I Wonder
by Flutiegal
Summary: A young woman's perspective on life is changed after introduction to TW characters
1. Chapter 1

I wonder. If I knew _then _what I know _now_, would I still walk into the bodega that night? Would I make the decision to go through all that one more time? Was it worth the pain?

* * *

Borrowed yellow dress. Artificially blonde hair. I felt like a daffodil. A plastic one. In addition, here I was pretending to have a good time at one of Manhattan's most humid dance clubs . Pretending. Story of my life: pretending to be happy; pretending to be someone I'm not. Pretending I wasn't in fear for my life every minute of every day…

One of the girls passed me a second shot of tequila. I accepted it with a false smile that I knew their alcohol-addled brains believed was genuine. Syl, to my right, raised her glass and the other two raised theirs. I did so as well. "Mazel tov," she announced as a toast, and we all threw our drinks back. I slammed my shot glass down on the table next to theirs and barely added a lackluster harmony to their exaggerated whoop. To them, this was 'fun'. Friday night fun.

How unperilous their lives must be that they had to go out and create their own trouble.

Having scanned the room the entire time we'd been there, I'd detected no less than a half a dozen males I would characterize as predatory. And that was a cautious estimate. All night, I'd been doing my best to make sure we stayed together as a group… went to the ladies' room in twos…it wasn't unlike herding antelope. The lonely straggler becomes the victim. Which was why I'd made sure I'd only just had my second shot while they had downed their fourth or fifth. Maybe that sounds a little sad, that I couldn't enjoy the evening; that I was intentionally being over-cautious, untrusting… suspicious, even. But when you've learned that you can't even trust the people closest to you …had it _beaten _into you… you don't think about how broken you are anymore. You just learn to look for where it's going to come from next.

The most menacing was the man I'd been monitoring in the large mirror over the bar. The four of us were at a table about eight feet from the bar, and I could see his reflection, back against the far wall, to my right, against the only brightly colored wall in the room. He'd been chain-smoking all night, and trying to catch my eyes in the mirror. I imagined a small pyramid of ash at his feet. His eyes looked black from this distance. He wore an unbuttoned blue plaid flannel over a gray tee shirt. His hair was longish and wild, but his beard and mustache seemed well kept.

At least he hadn't come over to us. For the last hour and a half we'd had to ward off the advances of many an intoxicated man. And some not so intoxicated. As their drinking progressed, the girls started complaining that I was spoiling their fun by sending the men away. But I was just doing what I needed to do to make sure we all got home safely. I was starting to get ready to corral them all and head out the door to snag a cab.

That's when I saw them. Out of the corner of my eye I caught uniform movement coming down the hall from the bathroom and the office further back. In spite of myself, I looked. Cops.

The female officer was flipping a page on her notebook, pen still in hand. I was directly in the male officer's line of vision. Instantly, my hands felt clammy, and I felt about to break into a sweat with the inevitable cheek burn. What if he recognized me? I hadn't seen any of the posters until just recently, but it was plain they'd been created just after I'd left Chicago three years ago. You can change the clothes and the hair, but not the face. I quickly looked down at my hands, which were nervously crumpling a napkin. Damn. Napkins don't demand the kind of scrutiny I was giving.

I chanced a glance up. The officers had stopped to talk to the bartender. She was leaning on the bar making notes, while the guy was leaning next to her, his back to us. I breathed deep, several times, calming myself. They weren't here for me. How could they be? I was disappointed in myself for not having noticed them when they came in. How could I have missed that? There must have been some kind of complaint that required them to talk to the manager, obviously in the office. Something less than a bar fight.

I kept breathing and rationalizing and pretty soon I was close to normal, even though I still had stomach butterflies. I would get out of here free and clear tonight. No problem, I kept telling myself.

I chanced a glance at the bar, and saw the female officer fully engaged in conversation with the bartender. _He,_ however, was leaning back, elbows on the bar, looking at our table, and he caught my eye. I quickly looked over at Syl, who was talking to Julia. I leaned back and scanned the room, looking nonchalant. Looking anywhere but back at the bar. I even looked over my shoulder at the predator with the hair. His black, beady eyes were still on us as he took a deep drag off his cigarette. I knew without looking that the officer was still watching us, and it flustered me so much that I grabbed my purse and headed off to the left, down the hall to the bathroom, alone. Breaking my own rule.

I ran cold water over my wrists, and patted a little on the back of my neck, wiping it away with a paper towel. That worked. I felt better, less panicked. I sighed deeply, and opened the bathroom door, stepping into the hall.

He was waiting for me.

The predator.

Cigarette free for the first time this evening. I glanced away and started to walk past him. He grabbed my arm and started to say something. I felt the old fear, panic rushing through me. I spun to face him, wrenching my arm loose. And I backed into something solid.

"Is there a problem here?" came a low voice next to my ear. The cop. Had to be, from the look on the guy's face.

"Not anymore," I replied, glaring at my predator.

"Hey. Jim Morrison. Get the hell out of here. _Way_ out."

The man quickly complied, ducking past us out to the club and, hopefully, out the front door. I turned to face my rescuer, willing my breathing to return to normal. He was glaring after the man, eyes almost black with menace.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," I eyes were regularly an incredible shade of blue, intense and mesmerizing. I think I just stared stupidly.

"You really should take a buddy with you in a place like this," he advised. "He's been watching you."

"I know," I nodded, tearing my eyes away with great effort and looking beyond him into the club. "I usually do. Take a buddy." That was a lie. There _was _no 'usually', and there were no 'buddies'. . I didn't want to, but knew I had to: I brought my eyes back to his face, with another false smile. I just wanted out of there.

"Be more careful next time."I nodded squinted at me for a second, scrutinizing my face.

"Do I know you? You look familiar." Crap.

I shook my head. "I get that a lot. I guess I just have one of those faces. Everybody thinks I look like somebody they know." I shrugged. He seemed satisfied with that.

I gestured toward the club. "I'd better get back to my friends. Thank you for your help." He stepped aside and let me pass. I practically ran back to the table, hoping to gather them all together and get them out the door before the cop realized where he'd seen me before.

I was just about to suggest we leave when the obligatory Def Leppard tune "Pour Some Sugar on Me" began, and the girls at my table squealed way too loudly. So much for getting out quickly. I sighed, smacked my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes and shook my head. Why had I said 'yes' when they'd asked me to join them tonight? When I looked up again the cop was back at the bar with a half-smirk on his face, in commiseration. Killer smiles, sure, but who's ever heard of a killer _smirk_? This was do you achieve something like that? I unintentionally gave him a half-smile, hoping he didn't think I was flirting. Even so, I had a hard time tearing my eyes away.

Syl noticed and followed my gaze."Oooh, look what Jen found!" she oozed, and, before I knew it, she'd peeled away around Julia and Amber and was headed toward the bar. The other two followed like a gaggle of geese. I hesitated. I didn't exactly want more face time with a cop. Especially that cop. It was only when Amber ran her hands down his left arm and drunkenly asked if he was the stripper that I decided I'd better take action.

"Back off, ladies. Nothing to see here. Move along." I did my best police officer imitation, turning my companions back toward our table. "I don't know the penalty for assault on a police officer but I _do _know you wouldn't last ten seconds in jail." I called after them.

I turned back to him. "I'm sorry about my friends," I began, then adding quickly, "They're actually not _friends_, just co-workers looking to blow off steam on a Friday night." I didn't want to be making the eye contact I was making, but it was hard to look away.

"He craves the attention," his partner said, never looking up from her note-taking. I looked at her, grateful for the momentary out. Reluctantly, I swung my eyes back to him.

"Well, hey, Romeo! I can send them all back over here if you want." I said jauntily.

"Nah, I'm good. I try to steer clear of intoxicated women."

His partner snorted.

"I said I _try._" He said testily, then looked back at me.

"You obviously haven't been drinking as much as your friends," his partner said, still scribbling in her notebook.

"No," I agreed, "I've been trying to keep track of everyone, trying to herd them toward the door, like cattle. That last song derailed me."

"You driving?" he asked. I glanced at his name tag. "M. Boscorelli" I wondered what the 'M' stood for. Mark. Matt. Mike. Something terse, curt…like him.

"No," I paused.

"You're a hell of a lot more sober than _they_ are," said his partner, finally looking at me. I read her tag quickly. F. Yokus.

_"_I just want to make sure they get into the cab and get home safely." I shrugged.

"But what about _you_?" asked M. Boscorelli.

I shrugged again. "I live a couple of blocks from here."

He glared at me intensely and enunciated: "Get in the cab. I don't want to get called back here because some homeless guy found you lying in an alley."

"Yeah. You _don't_ wanna be the one who wrecks his dinner break," added F. Yokas, with a smirk at her partner.

He turned to her impatiently. "Can we go?"

"Just a minute," she replied turning back to the bartender, "One more thing."

"Well, I'd better start steering them to the door. I'm really sorry about their behavior, I-"

He cut me off. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay. Well, thanks again."

He nodded curtly and I turned back toward my companions with a _whoosh_ of relief.

"What did Hot Cop say to you?" Syl asked when I returned to my place next to her. Julia and Amber riveted their attention on me.

"He said I needed to get you all in a cab and safely home. So let's get going." I picked up my purse and scanned the room for predator Jim Morrison. He was nowhere to be seen. Relief. I glanced back at the bar and saw the two officers leaving. M. Boscorelli gave me an extremely effective glare and mouthed the words "Get . In. The. Cab."

"O.K." I gave him a thumbs-up, having no intention of doing so.

* * *

"_That's _a first," Faith commented as we headed toward the door. I could tell by her tone she was baiting me.

"What's a first?"  
"She liked you."

"How is that a _first_?" I blustered.

She smiled, teasing. "She's a _Nice _Girl."

"Nice Girl just lied to a cop." I pointed out. "She's not going to take a cab."

Faith shrugged.

I pushed the door open for her.

"Maybe it's _time _for a nice girl." I muttered. She just laughed.

* * *

With the distractions of the music, lights and men, it's amazing that it only took me ten minutes to gather the girls together and make it out the door. Julia gave out her number twice on the twenty-five foot journey. I stood them together near the curb and hailed the first cab I saw. It pulled up and I loaded the three of them in the back seat. I opened the front door to tell the driver where to take them, leaning in a little, then happened to glance back toward the club. In the alley next to it, deep in the darkness, I saw the ember of a cigarette.

I got in the cab.

* * *

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled when she got in the cab.

"She almost didn't! Did you see that? She almost didn't get in the cab."

"Can we go now? I'm starving." Faith complained.

"I can't believe it," I muttered, starting the car.

"You know, it's not like you to be so consumed with one person's bad decisions," she mocked. "What would you have done if she didn't get in?"

I thought for a minute, ran my hand over my face. "I don't know," I admitted. "Lately I've been having trouble with what to do when things aren't as they ought to be."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I'm _fine_ on the job." I put the car in gear. "Let's go get that guy out of the alley."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

I wonder about choices and their consequences. I wonder all the time about if I'd chosen action A over action B, or gone left instead of right, where would I be now instead?

* * *

_I remember reading the short story "The Lady or the Tiger" in middle school._

_The injustice of it has always bothered me. That and the fact that the story didn't have a definitive ending; that it left the reader to decide which door the man actually opened. The reality of the situation is that it's not actually his choice : the man's love is choosing for him. Will she choose to let him live and be married to another, or will she choose to watch him die a horrible death rather than share him with her rival? The decision is really hers rather than his. _

_It doesn't seem to me to be a complicated dilemma. Every time I read it, it seems to me that I would rather know that the man I loved was alive, even with another, rather than killed in such a horrible manner. I can relate to the envy or jealousy that would lead someone to consider the other alternative. But I can't __**understand**__ it._

_This isn't about emotion. It's about choices. Nearly every day, I feel as if I'm faced with the two doors: one option is death, the other is vibrant, exciting life. And, nearly every day, I decide not to choose. So I stand there in front of the two doors and drift on through to the next day, neither living nor dying, just being. Just existing. _

_Choices. _

_How much of life is made up of consequences from choices, and how much is just some sort of cosmic disruption that upends things? Which things are connected, and which are arbitrary? Or is there something in the middle, some force that blends these two things and makes life even more difficult? I have always thought that everything happens for a reaso. Now, I thought maybe that reason was …_

_(…letting the reader decide. Fill in the blank.)_

Too coy, I decided, deleting the entire thing.

Since when had I started putting that much of myself into my work? Honesty is essential in real life, but this was just printed words on the page.

I could be anything I wanted when I was writing, and often was. I wrote for women's magazines, men's magazines, home design magazines, science magazines…I wrote editorials, opinion pieces, informational columns and informative articles…the list is far too long. The sweet part was that I could write nearly everything under a _nom de plume …_a pen name. I never had to use my real name in public, on paper. It was the perfect profession. Especially for me.

The week had passed quickly. I'd done most of my work from my laptop at home, but, being Friday, there were a few things that required my attention at the office, so I could prepare for the upcoming week. I didn't plan to stay too long, so I wore sneakers, jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

What if I'd chosen to go on Saturday instead? Or Thursday?

Choices, again. It just all comes back to choices.

On one hand, choosing to go to the office on a Friday afternoon turned out to be a devastating mistake. On the other hand, if I'd chosen to dress up, I'd be dead.

Syl, Amber and Julia asked me if I wanted to go out again that night. I gestured to my clothing and declined, apologizing. It was a great excuse, but I would have ducked out for another reason, if I had been dressed for it. I told them I had much more to finish before heading home. They bought it and moved on. Flooded with relief, I went back to my work.

Last Friday had been a personal disaster. In so many ways. I'd made the mistake of letting co-workers think I might be friendship material. I'd made the mistake of getting myself into a sticky situation that could have easily been avoided. I'd made the mistake of drawing attention to myself by getting into that situation. And I'd made the mistake of allowing myself to notice a man. A cop, no less. From one extreme to the other... All of it was trouble I just didn't need.

There wasn't much left to do, so I filed the last of my papers and re-organized my desk in order to hang around long enough to make up for lying. Yes, I just mentioned that honesty is essential in real life, and then lied to my co-workers. Sue me.

My choice to decline the invitation from the girls; my choice to hang around the office later, to make up for some mythical guilt… these circumstances combined led me to enter that bodega at just the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right time. It's all a matter of perspective.

"Hey, Sal!" I yelled, entering the store, a block from my apartment, as I did nearly every Friday night.

"You're late!" Sal yelled back, "And where were you last week?"

"Out clubbing!" I yelled from the far side of the store, grabbing a quart of 1% milk and a glass bottle of Snapple diet raspberry iced tea. I went up and down the aisles. Tonight's dinner was going to suck. Pringles, I decided, salt and vinegar. Aptly suited to my personality. Maybe I should get something acidic to drink too… I went back to the cooler and grabbed a premade turkey sandwich. Food guilt. Thanks, Mom.

"Do you ever go to the grocery store?" Sal called back, chuckling.

"No."

I came around the corner toward the register, and set everything on the counter. He started ringing it all up. I withdrew cash from my back pocket. I never carried a purse. Just cash and an ID.

"$20.75." he proclaimed, not yet having bagged everything

I withdrew my ID from my back pocket, wrapped in four $50 dollar bills. I tugged one free and handed it to Sal.

"One day you'll hand me a twenty and I'll just die." He said, smiling, just about to hand me my change.

"I like to carry cash," I shrugged, and started to gather my items. Sal gestured toward a bag, and I shook my head, wrinkling my nose…no big deal. Just a couple of things. "Don't waste a bag." I said.

Choices.

For some reason, I chose to glance at the front door of the bodega as I gathered my purchases. Sal plopped the change into my waiting hand. The bell had rung and two men were entering. Suddenly, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

I gaped at them. Juan Tavares and Bobby Macaluso. Best buds. And Chicago thugs.

They stopped when they saw me, as if they couldn't believe their eyes. That look told me they hadn't come here looking for me. They were as shocked as I was.

That shock only lasted a moment, and they both lunged into the store, screaming. I launched the Snapple bottle at them, hitting Big Bobby in the head. It shattered and he stumbled backward out the door. Juan, the skinny and shorter one advanced quickly. Turning to run, I saw Sal pick up the phone behind the counter, and heard the beep of three buttons. All I needed to do was play 'keep away' with _me_ until the police arrived.

I ran toward the back of the store, knowing there had to be an emergency exit into the alley. I didn't like the idea of leaving the store because I didn't want Sal having to face these guys on his own. If I got away from them, they might go back to Sal to find out where I lived. They'd be merciless. Juan followed me like greyhound and I literally circled the inside of the store at least once before Big Bobby lumbered back in the front door, shaking off the shards of broken glass and droplets of raspberry iced tea mingled with blood. I slipped as I raced around the loaded shelving, and I prayed that Sal had not only gotten through to 911, but that he'd hit the floor behind the counter and would not draw attention to himself.

Time was running out and I sprinted to the back of the store near the custodial closet. I spun around just as Juan got to me. He swung and struck me, hard, on the left side of my face. Hard enough for me to see stars, but not to knock me out, as he'd intended. I stumbled backward into the closet.

Reaching out to steady myself, I happened to grab a broom handle. I swung it forward , handle first, and jabbed him in the gut with it. Hard. He stumbled backward, clutching at his stomach, and I brought it up and hit him hard on the side of his head. He went down, but he wasn't out. Hearing a deep growl I looked up and saw Big Bobby barreling at me, ready to leap over Juan.

I glanced to my right and saw a sliver of light. An exit. I sprinted, slamming into the emergency door, flying out into the alley. If I hadn't been wearing sneakers…

It was dark and I was blind at this point, which is why I made the mistake of running away from, not toward, the main road. Choices. If I'd gone left instead of right I would have been safe inside my own building before Big Bobby even rounded the corner. I would have been able to get my pre-packed bags and could have vanished from my life in New York within a half an hour.

I'd headed back, from the side alley, to an alley that ran behind the buildings. I skidded and ran to the right. I heard Big Bobby bust out the exit door and prayed he would run in the other direction, especially since I could now hear sirens.

At 5'9" I was relatively short-waisted and used my longer legs to my advantage, sprinting and making turns in alleyways until I really didn't know where I was anymore. I couldn't hear a pursuit at this point, so I slowed and ducked into a doorframe to catch my breath.

Just my luck. I bumped into something soft. A short, grizzled homeless man gazed up at me, drunken and half- toothless. He wore a navy baseball cap with no logo and a filthy denim jacket.

"I will give you $100 for your hat and jacket," I whispered, whipping the cash out of my back pocket. I handed two fifty-dollar bills to the man. He shrugged off his jacket and placed his dirty baseball cap on my head.

"Thanks," I whispered. I shrugged on the disgusting jacket and tucked my hair up under the baseball cap. It was tight, so it would stay on even if I ran. I checked things out, looking both ways, and then sprinted down the alley behind the stores. I saw no one and heard nothing, so I slowed my pace a bit.

As Ipassed an alley to my right, I heard the sound of running. I didn't bother to glance up the alley, I just put on a burst of speed. It sounded like Big Bobby was in the lead, with Juan farther behind. I ran for my life, my lungs burning. I had no doubt that they were going to either kill me here or take me back to Chicago, and I would do anything to prevent that.

I ducked off to the right, hoping for a miracle.

I could hear Big Bobby gaining.

He hit me hard in the back and knocked me to the alley floor.


	3. Chapter 3

I wonder, some days, exactly how I got here. How I went from being the person I used to be to being the person I am. I wonder how I let myself get this way…let myself s_tay _this way.

* * *

My right cheek was ground into the gravel and pavement. His body was crushing mine, and I tensed every muscle, terrified, ready to fight for my life. Panic took my breath away.

"You like hitting women, you skinny punk?" he huffed in my ear.

It took me a second.

Police. Thank God.

It was a massive struggle to remain still and not fight, but somehow I managed to harness the panic and terror and make it happen. He got off of me, ground his knee into my back and wrenched my arms behind me, cuffing my wrists. Hauling me to my feet , he shoved me face first up against the brick wall, hard. Holding me there with a hand right in the middle of my back, he paused to catch his breath and let what I assumed was his partner catch up. I kept my face averted, thankful that the hat had stayed on my head. A ride in a police car would be much safer than a walk home.

"He said there were two," said his partner, also out of breath.

A woman?

It couldn't be.

I raised my eyes but not my head.

Dammit. What are the odds? The only two cops in New York City who had ever seen me before. A sigh escaped me.

Mistake. That drew his attention back to me.

"What are you, _tired_, scumbag?"

I coughed something unintelligible.

"Speaka no English?"

I remained silent.

M. Boscorelli grabbed my upper left arm and pulled me off the wall. "Let's go."

"Shouldn't we have the storekeeper I.D. him?" asked F. Yokas.

"He was running. Good enough for me."

"Okay," she shrugged.

He practically threw me in the back seat of the police car. My left foot was barely inside when he slammed the door.

He slammed _his_ door, too; angry

"This is not going to be easy on you, pal." He threw over his shoulder as we pulled away from the curb. I resisted the temptation to look to see if Juan and Bobby were still in the area, and kept my head down. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's guys like you who think it's okay to hit a woman."

I'd been hit, I remembered suddenly, and the left side of my face started to throb. It felt hot and swollen and I wondered if I'd end up with a black eye. I could feel some blood oozing down the right side of my face from the scrape. I must be a sight. I came close to giggling, but I knew if I did I wouldn't …_couldn't_ stop laughing until it got to the point where I could no longer breathe. I'd been in some strange situations, but this was by far the strangest. I'd never been handcuffed before. Never been in a police car. Never been in a police _station_.

M. Boscorelli continued to talk at me all the way back to the station. Trash talk, snide comments. I tuned him out and planned my strategy. Things would be straightened out quickly once they realized I was the victim. The police presence in my neighborhood would probably scare off Juan and Bobby for a time, but they would definitely be back, looking for me. I could sneak back tonight, get my pre-packed suitcases and get the hell out of town. I'd known this day would come, sooner or later. It was incomprehensible that I'd spent three full years in New York. I ought to have moved on long ago.

The car screeched to a stop, parking headfirst in front of an imposing looking building. M. Boscorelli got out quickly, while F. Yokas gathered her things. She'd been pretty silent the whole way. He wrenched open the door and grabbed me by the arm again, pulling me. I slid over on the seat and started to get out, but my feet tangled and one of them caught on the lip where the floor meets the door. He'd just let go of my arm, and I fell to my knees outside the car, nose nearly scraping the pavement.

"Oops." He said sarcastically.

I realized my hat had come off, which I thought might be the only reason I hadn't received a good solid kick to the ribs yet. I flipped my hair out of my face and glared up at him, slowly straightening and resting on my heels. His expression was priceless. It was almost worth it. He looked quickly across the car, eyes wide, at his partner, who had just gotten out of the car.

"What did you do to him?" she sighed.

"Him's a _her_." He confessed. He looked back down at me, the "I'm in trouble," look on his face quickly turning to "What the hell?"

From behind me, he grabbed both my upper arms and pulled me up, then pushed me back against the car. His 'Uh-oh' look was long gone, replaced by just barely contained fury.

"Who the hell are _you_?" he demanded. "Why didn't you _say_ anything?"

"No hablo," I offered, with a smug smile. I don't know why I did it. I could have just explained. Maybe I just wanted to see if I could push him over the edge.

He looked across the car at his partner, fuming, his jaw set. I think she chuckled.

"I thought I'd be safer in a police car than in that alley." I added quickly. Maybe I could diffuse the situation, and get the hell out of here.

"She's the _victim_?" F. Yokas was incredulous. "Bosco!"

" 'Bosco '?" I repeated, "Like the _syrup_? That redefines irony," I observed.

He squinted at me. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
His partner spoke up. "She means there's nothing sweet about you."

His mouth set in a grim line. Then he peered at me, as if trying to see beyond the dirt, bruises and blood.

"Do I know you?"  
I gave him the same answer I had at the club.

"I get that a lot. I just have one of those faces-"

"You're the girl from the stupid club." He interrupted, shaking his head.

"Hmm…" I said sarcastically. "Hundreds of clubs in Manhattan. _Thousands _of women. I _must _be the 'girl from the club'..."

"Yellow dress." He growled.

"I don't own anything yellow." I mumbled, truthfully.

"Because of you," he stuck his finger in my face, "those two idiots are still out there."

"Right. It's got nothing to do with the fact that _you_ got the wrong person." Why was I making things worse? Everything in my screamed at me to keep my mouth shut and make this easy, but I just couldn't help myself.

"That bad side you mentioned?" His hostile eyes bored into mine." You're on it."

"Bosco, she's the victim. Are you going to uncuff her?" His partner interceded.

"Inside."He snapped. To her it was an answer, to me a directive. His eyes never left mine. His fury was unsettling, but I forced a shrug and turned toward the police precinct. He slammed the car door and gave me a shove toward the stairs. He was going to march me in there like a criminal.

"You lied to me," he said, voice very low, very close. Very menacing.

"Lied about what?" I demanded.

"About taking a cab. You had no intention." He was right.

"Our relationship is a whole five minutes old and already I've lied to you. I fear for our future." I snapped. Are you kidding me?

"I'll never lie to you again." I promised, offhandedly, assuming there would never be a need.

"You know," I said, with supreme irony, over my shoulder at him, "My friends called you 'Hot Cop'." Changing the subject couldn't hurt.

"Yeah?" he grunted, uncaring. "What'd _you _call me?"

"Nothing." I said. "But a few adjectives come to mind _now._"

He snorted.

"What's the little 'M' stand for?" I asked, then offered a few suggestions. "Menacing? Monstrous?"

F. Yokus laughed.

"Maniac?" I continued. "Malevolent? Malicious…?"

"Motivated." He said tightly, right in my ear, pushing me up the stairs and through the door. He made it sound like a threat.

"Moronic?" I pushed.

"Maurice." His partner answered simply, ending my game. Too bad. I had dozens more.

"Mau_rice_!" I crowed triumphantly. This was _gold_.

"Don't go there." He warned.

We paused in the lobby. There was a uniformed officer behind a large desk, and two standing in front of him, chatting. Tall Cop and Hefty Cop, I labeled them. I noticed a crest on the wall. "Camelot", it read. Camelot?

"Damn, Bosco. What'd you _do_ to her?" said Tall Cop.

"I didn't do this." Mau_rice_ muttered, moving me toward the stairs to the second floor.

"Umm, beg to differ, Lancelot. I seem to remember you giving me a cement facial back there in the alley." I threw back at him.

"Whatever." He dismissed me, prodded me to get going up the stairs.

"What'd she do?" I heard Tall Cop ask F. Yokas.

"Nothing." She answered. Simple seemed to be her thing.

"She pissed me off!" Mau_rice_ hollered back down at them.

"Sir Galahad here doesn't know how to treat a damsel in distress." I called out.

"Bosco being Bosco. What's new?" It was the gravelly voice of Hefty Cop.

At the top of the stairs he guided me into an interrogation room.

"ID?" he asked.

"Back right pocket."

He uncuffed me. "Empty all your pockets onto the table."

I threw my Illinois license, wrapped in my last $50 bill on the table. Then my apartment key and chap stick. Lastly, forty-three cents.

"Sit down." He glared at me, arms crossed. He glared at me for a minute, and when his partner entered the room, he picked up my ID.

"Jenny Slater." He said flatly, then threw it back down on the table.

I didn't even nod. It wasn't a lie if I didn't say anything, right? I'd taken the name from a minor character in one of my favorite movies.

"You sure about that?" he demanded. He knew.

"You know, I paid a lot of money for that. You could have at _least _had the courtesy to look at it for more than two seconds."

F. Yokas seated herself at the table, notebook out, first aid kit next to it.

"You want to give us a name?" she asked.

"Not especially." I admitted.

"Bosco, would you go get an ice pack for her face?"She asked. He nodded reluctantly and moved toward the door.

"Hey, Space Cowboy," I taunted, "can I get some water?"

"No." And he left.

"Bosco. Get her some water, please. And get yourself some Valium!" She yelled after him.

When he'd gone, grumbling, she turned back to me, opening the first aid kit.

"Let's clean you up, then we'll get your story."

She doused a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and dabbed at my face.

"You really shouldn't provoke him, "she said.

"I know." I admitted. "There's just something about him that makes it so damn _fun_."

"Call me Faith." She said. "Believe me, I know. But if you want to get out of here sometime in the next century, I would suggest you don't."

"I'll try." I promised.

But when he came back with the water and the ice pack, I just couldn't resist an enthusiastic "Hey, Mo!" He tossed the soft ice-pack on the table in front of me. "I can't stop myself." I said to Faith. I looked back at Mau_rice_. His smug smile hadn't been altered by my dig at his name. And he had a wicked gleam in his eyes. Uh-oh.

His partner noticed. "Oh, one other thing," she turned to me, sympathetically. "He always wins."

I shut my mouth and waited. He knew. How could he know?

Pausing a moment for effect, he gave me a cat-that-ate-the-canary look that made me seriously consider violence. Then he dramatically placed a piece of paper down on the table and slid it toward me.

He leaned in, intense. "This."He used his finger as punctuation on the paper, looking directly at me, and I glanced down at the paper. "Is _you_." He straightened up and waited for my response.

"That is some damn fine police work, Lou," I breathed, looking down at the picture that Evan had taken just a month before it all happened. That was all I could manage. I sagged back in my chair.

"What, no sassy comeback?" he badgered. I ignored him and picked up the poster. "MISSING!" It proclaimed. "Kate Rogers, Age 22." I gazed at the impossible picture… of me. A wide smile, radiating happiness. Joy, actually. Short, tousled brown hair, with some highlights. I felt sick. Evan had said he loved the picture because it was the only one he had that showed who I really was .

_Who I __**was**_**,** I reminded myself, dropping the paper back on the table. Seriously subdued and deflated. I wasn't really upset at being found out; once he'd discovered the fake ID I knew I'd have to tell them everything. I was more upset at the reminder of how things had been. How _I'd _been. How had I gotten here?

Faith picked up the poster and choked back a laugh. "Oh," she said. I was baffled. She looked at me to confirm that it _was_ me, then back at Mau_rice_. His eyes were full of warning.

"It's your girlfriend," she sputtered, laughing.

"What?" I was still baffled.

"Nothing. Shut up,Faith."

She glanced at him, and continued anyway, grinning. "For three years we've been walking past this poster, coming out of roll call. It seemed like every other day he'd make some comment about what a shame it was that such a 'damn fine woman' was missing, so we started calling her his girlfriend."

Were things tipping back my way? I could only hope.

"That _is_ amusing," I admitted. "Repulsive, but amusing. " I wrinkled my nose. "N_ot _a pretty picture. I think I need some brain bleach."

I paused, then turned back toward him. "Just out of curiosity, do you make it a habit to carry on relationships with women made of paper?" If looks could kill…

Faith snorted. He warned her again with his eyes. This time she bit back a smile. His eyes snapped back to mine.

"I want some goddamned answers."

'Some' answers were all I was willing to give.

"You kiss your _boy_friend with that mouth, _Maurice_?" I challenged.

His eyes went black.

For the second time that night, I feared for my life.


	4. Chapter 4

I wonder what I did to piss God off that day.

* * *

As soon as I'd heard the words 'assault' and 'woman' I'd gotten that burn in my gut, and I'd just had to take the call. That had probably pissed Faith off, because we hadn't had a chance to break for dinner yet and she'd been complaining for two hours. I should have let 55-Charlie take it.

I held the ice pack on my hand, hoping it wasn't getting red or swollen because I had to go back in there in a second and I didn't want to let her know she'd gotten to me.

The 'gay' comment was definitely the last straw.

'Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth.'

I smiled in spite of myself. It was pretty damned funny, and if she'd said it to Sully or someone else, I probably would have nominated her for sainthood.

Instead I punched a wall.

She was one of the most frustrating human beings I'd ever met. She was smug and sarcastic, and didn't even appreciate that we'd dragged her out of a dangerous situation. Sure, it was a mistake, but not even a 'Thanks'?! She was acting as though we'd ruined her life.

But I guess maybe we had.

Kate Rogers forlornly fingered the 'Missing' poster.

"I don't know where to start," she confessed in a small voice.

"Start at the very beginning," I offered. Duh.

" 'A very good place to start'," Faith put in, with a smile and a sideways look at the girl. Great. She was in a goofy mood, now. I'd lost her.

Kate flashed her a look of gratitude and a tiny smile, then looked back down at the paper. She'd started tearing tiny pieces off the corners.

"Okay, before we get to raindrops on roses , I want to hear some _facts_." I snapped. I was leaning up against the wall near the door, arms crossed, hiding that hand. I had all night, but I knew Faith would want to be getting home close to on-time tonight. She sensed my frustration and stayed silent.

Kate continued to tear pieces off the paper, and remained silent.

"What I _can _do is call the number on that poster and get your story from _them_." I threatened.

She looked up at me quickly, eyes wide with terror, and something that looked like hopelessness and desperation. She wasn't my favorite person right now, but I didn't really like that I'd been the one to make that look happen.

"Please don't," she whispered.

"Then start talking," I grabbed the chair opposite Faith, spun it around and sat, resting my arms on the back, an expectant expression on my face.

"Well," she began her attention back on the paper. I'd tamed her, but it was starting to feel like less of a victory. "Long story short-"

"No, no, no. We want the _long _version with _all_ the details." No way would I make this easy for her.

Kate sighed deeply, eyes closed. "You've heard of Evan Benedict."

Faith and I locked eyes. This was not off to a good start. Didn't see that coming.

"Yeah. Wealthy Chicago businessman. King of sales of something or other." Faith supplied. Kate opened her eyes.

"That's him. Well, after college, when I came back to Chicago, I started dating his son. We had known each other in high school." I knew tons of information was being left out. Faith knew it too, I could tell.

"His son is…" I prompted.

"Evan Benedict the Third." Kate started shredding the paper again. Mean little pieces. "His father gave me a job within the corporation. It wasn't what I _wanted_ to do, but I took it so I could have a decent income while I built up a career as a freelance writer."  
"You're a freelance writer?" Faith asked, interested.

"Anything I would have read?" I asked. Doubtful.

"When do you _read_?" Faith scoffed.

"I did a thing about the 1968 Pontiac Le Mans for Hot Rod," Kate said offhandedly. "A few things for the _New Yorker_. Editorials here and there. But I always used a pen name."

"What _about_ the Le Mans?"

She turned toward me, eager for the interruption. "It was really cool. I got to drive one." She looked about sixteen at that moment.

"Can we keep things on track here?" Faith demanded, glaring at me. I shrugged.

"Anyway," Kate continued. "Things had changed since high school. Evan wasn't the same guy I remembered, and he had a whole new crowd of friends. Two of which I ran into tonight. Juan Tavares and Bobby Maldonado. Big Bobby was a bouncer at a club we'd go to. Juan… I don't really know what he was. A hanger-on, I guess."

"So you knew the two guys who assaulted you," Faith always wanted things to be crystal clear. "You could identify them."

Kate nodded. "I can give you their addresses." Faith slid her notebook over to Kate, who wrote for a minute, then continued, pushing the notebook back.

Her voice was flat and lifeless.

"After about six months I found out that Evan was selling cocaine, heroin, other stuff. I didn't want anything to do with that. I told him that, and he swore he'd stop. Apparently, he only stopped when I was around." She rolled her eyes up, looking at the ceiling.

"After a while some of what I was seeing and hearing when I was with Evan started to add up with things I was seeing and hearing at work. Dating the boss's son gave me pretty much free reign and I did some 'research' and discovered that Evan Benedict the Second was importing drugs and preparing to give Evan the Third the keys to the kingdom. He had a five year plan."  
Both Faith and I were hanging on her every word. It seemed impossible. A highly respected businessman. I guess stranger things have happened.

"Do you have any proof of this?" Faith asked, scribbling furiously in her notebook.

"What I witnessed." Kate shrugged, then looked around the room. "This is being recorded, right?" she asked quickly.

"All interrogations are recorded," Faith answered.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief. "So if something happens to me you'll have a tape of me telling you what I saw. That you can use?" Her eyes pleaded with Faith. Faith nodded then met my eyes again. What the hell had we gotten into?

"I saw Evan selling drugs to individuals at the clubs. I saw him supplying large amounts of drugs to people who I assume then sold it on the street. I saw him hurt people who didn't pay him what they owed him. It was about a month after he promised to stop that I saw that. I came out of the bathroom in one of the clubs and he was kicking a man on the floor. I never want to see anything like that again. I think I got pretty hysterical and he grabbed me and took me out of there, and back to his apartment. I was crying. It was horrible. I didn't want anything to do with him. He'd lied to me, he'd dealt drugs. He hurt people. I told him he was the lowest life form on earth. I told him I never wanted to see him again, and started to leave." She paused, and gulped. "He grabbed me and started hitting me and didn't stop until I couldn't fight back any more."

I wanted Evan Benedict to suffer some extra special torture when he was in hell. I'm pretty sure I wanted to put him there. It takes a special type of scum to hurt a woman.

She paused, to compose herself, I thought. Faith wouldn't look at me. She knew how I felt.

"Then," her voice cracked, "he put me in his car and took me home." She sniffed a little. "He told me not to say anything to anyone, and we'd talk about it the next day. I didn't know if I would survive that conversation, so I packed what I needed and I left Chicago forever."

"Just like that?" Faith asked.

"I walked out. It's what I do." Kate stated flatly. "I'd gotten a pretty good start on a freelance writing career, and I knew I could develop it here in New York. Technology makes it possible for me to do it from just about anywhere. The Everglades. A bayou in Louisiana. The Alaskan tundra. A small island off the coast. I was just going to walk away tonight."

If I hadn't stopped her, she'd probably be long gone. Starting a new life in another city.

Or dead.

"Did you ever think about going to the authorities?" Faith asked.

"I did. Think about it, I mean," Kate nodded. "The Benedict family has an army of lawyers and more money than God. I knew nothing would stick, no matter what kind of evidence I had. Even the beating. There would be some fall guy, or something. I thought I had better make myself disappear before they did it for me."

"Anything else you need to tell us?" Faith asked. Kate thought for a minute, then shook her head. "That's pretty much it."

"Outside a minute," Faith said to me and I followed her. Once the door closed behind us, she asked in a low voice, "What do you think? Do you believe her?"

"No reason not to."

"Yeah, she's not telling us everything, though."

"I think she left out a _lot_." I agreed.

"I'm going to check out a few things. Keep her company for a bit."

Great. "What are we going to do with her after?" I asked "Put her in lock-up?"

Faith looked at me like I was an idiot. "She walked away from her life voluntarily. She's not a _fugitive_!"

"I'll stay with her. You go make sure that's true." I hoped it was.


	5. Chapter 5

I wonder about the exact moment I started to unravel. I wonder about the exact moment that he became a person, not just a uniform; not just the guy who was keeping me from running.

* * *

Just my luck. I was left with Mordred as a babysitter. I wished I'd known about 'Camelot' before I'd made my 'M Rant'. That would have been perfect. But, it probably would have been over his head.

Maurice sat on the chair backward again, where he'd been, and rested his chin on his arms, gazing at me seriously, studiously. I was drained. I didn't really want to go another round. His expression had softened a little bit, so maybe I wouldn't have to.

"So, when can I get out of here? I haven't done anything wrong. I was the victim." I whined.

"As soon as my partner checks you out, confirms some of you story, makes sure there aren't any more surprises, Jenny Slater."

"So, what: we sit here and have a staring contest?" I demanded.

"I'd win."  
"Clearly. Considering what I've gotta stare at. You think I want _this _image burned into my retinas?" I gestured at him.

That made him grin, oddly enough. Now that I _could _look at for a while. He was really a decent-looking guy when he didn't have that pissed-off look on his face. A look I _loved _contributing to.

"Wouldn't be that easy for me either. You look like a prize fighter." He retorted.

"Yeah, thanks to _you_." I pointed out. I didn't mean for it to sound as harsh as it did. His expression darkened, his eyes showing regret, resentment. I didn't know much about the guy, but I knew for _sure_ I'd just said The Exact Wrong Thing.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "It wasn't supposed to come out like that." I remembered what he'd said in the car about guys who hit women. I'd hurt his feelings.

"Forget it." He said curtly, looking out the windowed wall at the empty hallway. He sat back, arms crossed. The universal body language signal for "Keep Out." Damn.

Why did I care?

I just wanted out. Every minute I spent here was another minute and another million dollars spent trying to find my exact location. God help me if Juan or Bobby had seen them put me in the police car – they'd know _exactly_ where I was. Their reaction to seeing me told me Evan had not just let things go – he was after me with a vengeance. I had to get out of here, get to my things and get out of New York. I felt anxious, and the panic started again. I huffed a couple of breaths, trying to calm myself. When I looked up, his attention was riveted on me again.

"Nervous?" Maurice asked.

"Scared." I confessed.

"That we'll find out you were lying about something _else_?"

"Scared that he'll find me. I'm a sitting duck! I told you I wouldn't lie to you again, and I keep my word. It seemed important to you."

"Very," he said seriously. Definitely more than just 'decent-looking'.

I looked away quickly, out the window to the hallway. God, Kate, what the hell is wrong with you? Focus. You have no business finding him attractive. Stop it before it starts.

"There are lies of omission." Maurice pointed out solemnly. I hated him for that. I had always prided myself on being an open and honest person, and my 'open book' face was betraying me here.

"That's debatable." I shot back, wanting desperately to believe it.

" 'It is a truth universally acknowledged'." He quoted.

"_Pride and Prejudice_. Impressive." I was surprised.

"Bridget Jones." He corrected, with a wry smile.

I actually laughed. "Your _favorite _movie, I'm sure."

" _Field of Dreams_. Yours?"

"Really? Not _Godfather _or _Goodfellas _or_ Jaws _or something a little more _manly_?" I dug at him.

"Yours?" He repeated. Was this part of the interrogation?

"Mmmm…"I thought, deciding to stand and stretch my legs "There are so many, but I _always _watch _The Princess Bride_ when it's on. And I love _Grosse Pointe Blank._"

"Those are miles apart."

"Not so much. Someday I'll explain it to you." I added.

"No time like the present," he leaned forward again, interested.

"Well," I glanced out the glass windows to the hall, hoping for an interruption. "It'll take some time-"

"I have all the time in the world."

" _I _don't. He'll _find_ me if I don't get out of the city as soon as possible."

"You're safe here."

I poked the table with my finger for emphasis as he had earlier. "Every minute I'm here, he gets closer to finding me. It would have been more merciful to let those thugs slit my throat in the alley." I sat back down and fidgeted with the poster again.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Maybe your testimony can help build a case against him. Maybe they could put you into a witness protection program. Have you thought about that? Maybe thought about contacting the FBI?"

"I 'm happy with _my _witness protection program. It was very successful for three years, until I ran into you. Besides, I don't want to have someone 'managing' my life and telling me where I have to go and who I have to be. I have a problem with authority."

"No kidding," his words dripped sarcasm. "Never would have guessed it. Not in a million years. You know, someone could have _told_ me that you had a problem with authority and I would really have had a hard time believing it – "

"Al_right_." I stopped him. "Enough. I get it." Silence. I scowled and crossed my arms, staring out into the hall again.

"Got any family?" his question forced me to look back at him. I started shredding the flyer again, so I could look down.

"No."

"_None_?" Disbelief. I wondered what that expression looked like, but I kept my gaze on my busy hands.

"My parents died in a car accident my second week of college."

"I'm sorry." He said, paused. Then: "No relatives?"

I shook my head. Eyes on the table.

"No. Both my parents were only children and my grandparents were all dead."

"So you had no one. That's tough. Sometimes family is all you have to rely on."

I nodded. "I was forced to do everything myself."

He was silent for a moment then said, "You still try to. Do everything yourself." He clarified. _That _brought my eyes back to his. I was stunned that he'd read me so well. And panicked.

He kept his tone low and even, almost challenging. "You want out of here so you can take care of things _your _way. No FBI, no witness program, no safe house. No relying on someone else."

"I have trust issues." I shrugged and looked back down at my hands so he couldn't see how his observations had rattled me.

I shredded silently. There was a method to my madness. I'd shred along one edge then turn the paper clockwise and shred the next side, and so on. It kept an even border around my picture in the center. I didn't know if I could bring myself to shred that particular picture, but that wasn't my goal, anyway.

I didn't like him figuring things out about me.

"This bonding moment is great and all, but can we keep things adversarial?" I queried. "I'm pretty dysfunctional, and it's my defense mechanism."

"Defense against what exactly?"

"Cops," I said sarcastically. "And anything with an XY chromosome." Sure, Kate. You don't like him figuring things out, so instead you just flat out _tell _him.

"Are you one of those Man-Haters?" he squinted at me and scratched at his temple.

"No. Just cautious. Trust issues." I reminded him. He nodded.

I exhaled deeply and dropped the poster. All that was left was my picture with a ragged border of white. Mission accomplished.

Faith suddenly pounded on the window with a fistful of papers, scaring the hell out of me. She gestured for Maurice to join her in the hallway.

"Hey, if you two want to use the room, I can always leave," I suggested, as he rose. He looked down his nose at me.

"Stay put." Not _quite_ a threat.


	6. Chapter 6

(Author's Note: I ask for 'suspension of disbelief' when it comes to issues of police procedure/etc. I am ignorant)

* * *

I wonder what would have happened if we'd just let her go…

* * *

"What do you have?" I asked, breathless, anxious.

"She's Kate Rogers. Writer from Chicago, disappeared three years ago, almost to the day." She shifted through the papers. " Worked as an assistant to Evan Benedict II. Some society pictures in the paper with Evan Benedict III." She showed me one she'd printed. It was a little grainy, but it was definitely her. Wearing a black and white dress, chunky jewelry and laughing up at a tall dark-haired man the blurb identified as Evan Benedict III. Rot in hell, I thought.

"She has a spotless past, not even a traffic violation. Squeaky clean." Faith smiled up at me. "I _told_ you. A nice girl."

"What about the Benedicts? Anything about the drug story?"

"I have a call in to the FBI. From what it looks like, there _is _something going on 't confirm it yet."

I exhaled, clasping my hands behind my head, looking at the hallway ceiling. "So what do we do with her? We can't just let her go with those guys looking for her. She's terrified that the Benedict money machine has been set in motion, looking for her."

"From what I've seen she has good reason to be afraid. I talked to someone in Chicago who gave me a little background on the family. Lots of rumors. Lots of people who've vanished. It _is _Chicago."

"But what do we _do_? We have no way to keep her here. We've got to let her go."

"I say we _tell_ her she's in "protective custody", and she comes home with me over the weekend so we can figure this out. I want to convince her to go to the FBI. I don't know what else we can I said, we can't put her in lock-up."

Keep her against her will? Could we do that?

I shook my head.

"No. You have a family. What if these guys followed us to the precinct and are waiting for her to leave? You want them following you back to you and your kids?"

"No," she admitted. She nodded a moment, thinking, then brought her gaze back to mine."What?" I demanded.  
She raised her eyebrows.

"With _me_? No. No_ way." _I was emphatic. I planted my feet wide and crossed my arms, leaning into her a little.

"_No way, Faith_."

* * *

After talking and apparently ensuing in a heated argument for more than ten minutes, they both came back into the interrogation room. Faith was flipping through a handful of papers and Maurice had that pissed-off look back on his face.

I smiled at Faith in sympathy. She smiled back. I turned to Maurice. "She's a better woman than me. If I had to deal with you all day I'd drive off a bridge."

"It's crossed my mind." Faith confessed.

"How do you do it?" I wondered aloud.

"I just keep telling myself that someday he's going to get what he deserves. Cosmic justice."

"You just kinda wanna be there for that." I said. She nodded. "So can I go now?"

She looked back up at me. "We're putting you in protective custody. We believe there is a credible threat against your life."

"Look, I _know _there's a threat! I've known for three years! Why can't you just let me _go_? I'll be out of town in twenty minutes!" I was incredulous. They were going to keep me in the very city Evan knew I was in.

"It can't get any worse than this!" I exclaimed, lifting my hands, then letting them drop to the table.

Maurice spoke up. "By the way, you'll be coming home with me."

"Okay, that's just not even _funny_." I looked at Faith, she nodded.

"Oh, _hell _no!" I slapped the table top. "No!"

"Just over the weekend until the FBI gets back to us." Faith said in calming tones.

"FBI?" I shrilled. "No FBI!"

"You really should speak with them."

"But that's up to me, right?" I was becoming unglued.

"I haven't told them about you yet, so right now it _is_ up to you."

"Can I at least go home and get some things?"

"I'll take you." Said Maurice. Dammit.

At my request, they walked me down the hall to the ladies room, then waited for me outside. I gazed at my reflection. The left side of my face, where Juan had hit me was a little puffy, but not as bruised as I'd expected it to be. The blemish would be gone in about three days, I figured. The wound from Maurice would last a lot longer. I splashed my face with icy water. Life as I knew it was over. At least for now.

* * *

"It's a good thing you've got the weekend off." Faith observed.

"How is that a _good_ thing?" I was in a foul mood.

She smirked. "That interrogation tape is going to make it around like wildfire. She's going to have quite a fan club." I hadn't thought about that. I sighed and leaned against the wall.

"Bosco, don't." she added.

"Don't what." I snapped.

Hands in her pockets she gestured at the ladies' room door with her chin. "Just don't, okay?"

"The thought never entered my mind." I spat back.

"Most days, it's the _only _thought that enters your mind."

"I'll keep it zipped up, I promise. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

She snorted, retorting, "What kind of guy do _you _think you are?!"

"I'm babysitting a homeless orphan and all of a sudden I've gotta stop being me?" I griped.

* * *

They'd left me on the beck in what I guess was a lobby, under the watchful eye of a desk clerk who was having a quiet conversation with a uniformed officer. They occasionally looked over at me, and at one point I heard the desk clerk say "She's with Bosco." I wasn't 'with' _anybody. _I thought about just making a run for it, but they'd catch me back at my apartment trying to get my things. I tilted my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, sighing deeply. How was this really even possible?

I heard some footsteps approaching, then stop in front of me. "Ma'am?" I opened one eye. Hefty Cop.

I lifted my head and looked at him.

"Hi, my name is John Sullivan," he reached out to shake my hand. He looked so serious.

"Kate Rogers." I grasped his hand, and released it. What was this about.

"Some of the guys were saying that you got Bosco so riled up he punched a wall." He said in his gravelly voice. I got a sense of satisfaction out of that fact.

Uh-oh. Was I in trouble here? Thin blue line, and all that.

Suddenly his face broke into a big smile. "I just wanted to say you're my hero. You made my day."

I beamed up at him. "You just made mine."

"Good night, Ma'am." He nodded and moved toward the door.

"Kate!" I called after him.

"Sully!" he called back.

Sullivan. Sully. Cute.

I leaned back again, eyes closed, a smile on my face. I'd been waiting nearly fifteen minutes and I was getting tired.

I heard a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and hoped it was Maurice, finally. Unfortunately, it wasn't. The footsteps receded in the other direction.

I stayed leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, but started singing at the top of my lungs, hoping he could hear me in the locker room upstairs.

"Show me the way to go home! I'm tired and I want to go to bed!" I heard steps on the stairs again.

"You see, I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it went right to my head!"

"Drunk and disorderly?" The uniformed officer asked, probably to the desk clerk.

"No." I answered. "But give me an hour."

Maurice sighed, hands in his jeans pockets. I opened my eyes, and he was right there. Black tee, black leather coat. The contrast made me realize how good he looked in his uniform. Not that _this_ was second rate. He had something in his hands. He headed me an NYPD baseball cap and jacket.

"Tuck your hair up under there, like you did before, and put the jacket on. If someone is watching your building they won't recognize you so quickly." Sharp. I did as he said. The jacket fit nicely.

"Let's go get this done." He said. I couldn't resist one last dig at him.

* * *

"You know when you knocked me down in the alley?"

I nodded.

"That's the closest I've been to a man in three years." She smacked me in the chest with an open palm. "Thanks for making that moment so damn special." She spun around and headed for the door.

Now, how was I supposed to just let that go?


	7. Chapter 7

She was something else.

Before I'd left, I'd gone back to the interrogation room to get whatever was left of the flier she'd been shredding. I'd scooped up the pile of paper and put it in the trash. All she'd left had been the picture in the middle. I shook my head. She'd shredded that phone number to pieces right in front of me. I'd put the picture in my jacket pocket and headed downstairs.

On the way out the door, she paused. "Is it safe?" I nodded. I'd had it checked out. I went back to the comment she'd made about the alley. What exactly had she meant by that? My knee in her back, putting the cuffs on too tight, throwing her against the brick wall…suddenly I felt like a bully. But what was with this three year thing?

Three years ago, Evan Benedict beats the hell out of her. Three hours ago, I came pretty close to doing the same thing. She'd just given me guilt. I was dealing with an expert.

"You'll make a great mom." I muttered.

I was standing on the top step, she was at the bottom, waiting.

"Where's your car?" she asked.

I nodded toward the Mustang.

"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow. "I'd pegged you as a hatchback kind of guy."

Funny. I trotted down the steps.

"Wow," she breathed, running her hand down the side of the car."Talk about the marriage of theme and form. Even your _car _has an attitude!" She grinned at me. "And it's about as subtle as _you_ are! I'll bet you have a bulldog at home. And the only plant you keep is a Venus Fly Trap." She speculated.

"No." I said, at the driver's side door. "It's cruel keeping a dog in the city. Get in." I commanded.

Kate just looked at me over the roof of the car. "You're not going to open the door for me? Do you treat your girlfriends like this? Because if you do, I get _exactly_ why you're stuck babysitting me on a Friday night."

"Shut up and get in." I was not in the mood.

"Can I drive it?"

"You don't have a valid license." I reminded her.

She made a face and got in the car. I slammed my door a lot harder than necessary.

* * *

"So some guy smacks you around, and you avoid the rest of us for three years. That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

That was well played. Direct, but cautious. And it had only taken him about twenty seconds from the time he'd started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Some guys would have completely ignored the comment and waited for me to bring it up again.

Some guys would have steered the conversation to approach the subject as if by accident.

Maurice walked right up to the elephant in the room and grabbed it by the tusks. And wrenched. Hard.

I hadn't underestimated him. I was impressed.

"You have no idea." I replied. He remained silent.

I looked out the passenger side window. "He didn't just beat me."

He hammered the steering wheel with his hand. Really hard. I didn't need to see his face to know what it looked like.

"That's a pretty damned big piece of information to leave out." His voice was flat with fury.

"I couldn't." I _still _couldn't. I continued to stare out the side window.

"That man needs to die in a fire _before_ he burns in hell."

We rode the rest of the way to my apartment in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Maurice stopped the car, miraculously, right in front of my building. We sat for a few minutes, in silence.

Eventually, he spoke, gruffly. "We knew you weren't telling us everything."

"I'm sorry." I said.

Silence.

I waited for a few minutes. He scanned the area.

"Have you ever seen those New York police dramas?" I asked, "Like Law and Order?" Who hadn't?

At least he looked at me.

"Have you noticed how they _always _find a parking spot right in front of the building they need to go to? In _New York_?"

"It doesn't really work that way." He actually met my eyes this time. The look in he gave me wasn't pity. It was a deep sadness that was more ancient than me. He'd seen too much; I was the latest installment in the drama he had to deal with every day.

"All right," he said finally. "It looks clear. Let's just get in and get out. Make it fast."

"That's what _she _said."I said, looking up at my building. I couldn't resist.

He looked at me with disbelief.

"This is serious." He said finally.

"I'm not." I shrugged, getting out of the car.

"Wait!" he demanded, following me with a muttered "Dammit!"

He was behind me within seconds, as I unlocked the front door of the building. He grabbed me roughly and pushed me back against the stone façade of the building.

"Let me go _first_." He hissed, through his teeth. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I raised my hands and backed off. "All yours, babe." He snorted and pushed through the door.

I followed him quickly up the stairs to my second floor apartment. He waved me off and drew his gun before unlocking and pushing the door open.

I guessed maybe I should take things a little more seriously.. "Stay here until I call you." He whispered. In spite of his words, as soon as he'd disappeared from view, I stepped out of the hallway, just inside the door.

He'd flipped on all the lights. I looked around at the place I'd called home for the last three years. Oh, well. He came out of the bedroom, tucking away his weapon.

"It's clear. Act like you're never coming back here, and take what you need. You have five minutes."

I went to the bedroom and pulled the two fully-packed suitcases from under the bed. I unzipped one, threw my laptop and power cord on top, and re-zipped it. Grabbed one in each hand and went back out to my tiny living room.

While she was packing I had time to look around the living room. She had a good eye for decorating. I really liked the framed skyline photos at each end of her couch, over the side tables. One was New York, one was Chicago. They were black and white, and very well done.

She returned in seconds, with two suitcases.

"Done." She chirped.

"Done?" How could she be done? "You still have four and a half minutes. Is there anything else you need here?"

"I was prepared for this day. I have everything I need."

"Okay," I shrugged, taking one of the suitcases from her. "Let's go." She walked out ahead of me and I shut off the lights.

After I'd locked the door, I paused, watching her walk down the hall.

"Don't you want to take anything else? How can you just walk away from all this? This was your life."

And, in a moment that is frozen in my memory, she looked back over her shoulder. "It's what I do."

* * *

More silence.

This was getting old.

Maurice stopped the car in front of a pizza place that was still apparently open.

"Hungry?" Eyebrows arched. Still ticked at me.

"Starving."After all, I'd gone into the bodega for dinner and hadn't gotten any. It was after midnight.

"What do you want?"

"I'll have whatever you're having." That'll make it easy. And quick.

" 'kay. Stay here."

When he came back he tossed a white plastic bag on my lap. That annoyed me. Then I looked in the bag.

"What is _this_?"

"Chef salad."

"_Salad_?" I demanded.

"I eat bad when I work. Faith says I need to make up for that."

"_Salad_? What are you, a _woman_?"

He shut the car off and turned slowly to look at me in a way that made me, chillingly, think of T-1000.

"I can go back in if you'd like." He snarled through gritted teeth.

"I'm fine. Just go."

* * *

Resigned, she rolled her suitcase into my apartment. The place looked sparse after seeing hers. All the walls were Navajo White, hardly anything on them. No plants. Nothing that said 'home'. No, wait, there was that thing on the kitchen counter that Mom had brought. Some kind of cactus.

"Early American Frat House." She winked, so I'd know that wasn't one of her barbs.

"I don't spend a lot of time here."

"It's nice." Kate said. "I like the fireplace. I always wanted one." She'd left the NYPD ball cap in the car, and now draped the jacket over one of the chairs.

"I don't think it works." I parked her other suitcase by the door.

She placed the bag with the salads on the table.

"Maurice," she said. I turned.

"I'm so sorry. " She sagged, leaning on the back of the chair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm here, I'm sorry that you have to deal with me. I'm sorry that I have to deal with _you_…I'm sorry about tonight…" she ran her hand over her face and I could see she was exhausted.

"It's okay. A good night's sleep and you'll be back to calling me names and making my life miserable in no time." She sighed and straightened up, grabbed the bag with the salads and walked over to the sofa, dropping them on the coffee table.

"Got anything to drink?" she queried, pulling the salads out of the bag. She groaned.

"Low-Cal dressing? Do you do _anything _like a man?"

"You have no idea." She was back. And I was glad. I didn't want to deal with all that ' I'm vulnerable' crap.

Kate collapsed on the couch, and I went to the fridge and opened a couple of beers. I tossed my coat on the small kitchen table and came back out to hand her one.

"Beer?" I asked, setting it down on the table next to her salad.

She looked up at me. "Do you have anything stronger?"

I hesitated and she continued.

"Because I had a pretty crappy night and I was looking forward to some kind of huge sandwich and a _big _glass of straight vodka."

A girl who likes to eat. Who would have known? I'd gotten salads because I thought that would be what she wanted. I could not win with this chick.

"I'm not sure what I have… I'll check." I went back to the kitchen and found an unopened bottle of Stoli. Perfect. I poured some into a rocks glass and brought it, with the bottle, back out to the living room.

She stood when she saw me, eyed the drink in my hand, then reached for the bottle. She clinked the neck up against the glass I held in my right hand and said "Cheers." Then she took a big swig.

Okay.

Kate sat back down on the couch, placing the bottle next to her salad on the coffee table.

"Drink up. Your night's sucked, too." She gestured to the glass I held. I sat next to her, a little bewildered. She shoved a salad over at me, then took another big gulp from the bottle, without even a sputter.

"Do you make a habit of this?" I asked.

She looked at me, eyes wide. "You mean dismantling my life? Moving on, leaving everything behind? It's what I have to do. You improvise. Adapt. Overcome."

"_Heartbreak Ridge_." I observed. " I meant the drinking."

She took another swig from the bottle.

"No, no. Only when somebody tries to kill me and I have to spend the night with a cop."

I took the bottle from her, placing it on the table and gave her the glass.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. She looked away.

"_Do _you?" I persisted. She looked back.

"You don't have enough vodka." She challenged.

I know. I've been there, I wanted to tell her.

She opened her salad and stabbed at it with the plastic take-out fork, but didn't eat any of it.

"I guess he was my high school sweetheart," she began. "We met senior year…dated. He dumped me at the end of the year before going to college because he –" she stopped.

I waited. She thought a bit, then continued.

"I mean, I wanted to wait, you know.. And he was a nice guy, but I was young, I wasn't sure he was 'the one'…."

I nodded.

She shrugged. "So I went to Iowa State, and he stayed in Chicago, going to school and working for his father."

Kate paused, and said in a small voice, "I just wanted it to be the right guy. I guess I always knew he wasn't."

"When I came back to Chicago after graduation –"

"Wait, wait, wait. There were no _guys_? In _college_?"

"That wasn't my priority. I had to study."

"You didn't date _anyone_?" Impossible.

"I didn't really have the time."

I snorted. "It really doesn't take that long." And it took me about a half a second to realize the abuse I'd just set myself up for with that comment.

Kate saw that and smiled, big. Like in the picture. And she gave me a look that let me know she had at least fifteen comments ready and available.

Then she just let it drop.

She drained the glass and poured some more.

"Take it easy."

"The only way I'll sleep tonight is if I pass out."

"You trust me enough to pass out?" I nudged her. I expected one of her snappy responses.

She thought for a moment, "Before we left the police station Faith pulled me aside and told me it's okay, she trusts you with her life every single day." She paused, then looked me straight in the eye.

"So, yeah, I do." It was the nicest thing she'd ever said to me.

Kate made her voice deep and gruff." But 'Just because we're holding hands doesn't mean we'll be taking warm showers together until the wee hours of the morning'."

"Gunny Highway. "  
"I've got _Heartbreak Ridge _on the brain."

"It's a great movie. But let's get back to where you weren't taking full advantage of the college experience."

"My parents were killed, I had only me to rely on." She shrugged, a little defensively."I was trying to establish a life for myself."

"By missing out on one of the all-time _best_ reasons for living."

"Yes, we all know where your priorities lie." Kate gave me a small smile, then sighed and pulled one of her legs up, resting her knee on her chin. "I didn't know things would turn out this way. I don't want to get off topic, but I always thought that before you could decide to share your life with someone, you actually had to _have _a life to share. Your own identity. My mom got swallowed up by my dad and me, until that's all there was left. She had no interests of her own, no real close friends, nothing outside the house. I didn't want to end up like that."

"You haven't."

"Might I remind you that this evening began with you pegging my _fake_ I.D. in two tenths of a second."

"It's what I do," I smiled, using her words.

"Anyway," she took another sip from the glass, holding it primly. "I told you I have trust issues. A lot of them are Daddy issues – you know, Dad's supposed to be there to teach you how a man should treat a woman –"

I grimaced.

"What?"

"I have Dad issues, too."

"Don't we all? It's amazing most of us even survive our parents and turn out to be decent human beings."

"I wouldn't call myself decent." I admitted. "I'm selfish, I have commitment issues, take _everything_ personally, and I hate it when things aren't as they ought to be."

"So tonight's _great _for you."

"Stellar."

"I'm not decent either. I'm stubborn as hell – "

"And a smart-ass," I interjected.

She ignored me. "I'm alone because I want to be and because I _need_ to be and pretty much everything I say or do is designed to keep everyone at an arm's length."

"Except now." I reminded her. "So tonight's great for you, too."

"I've never told anyone any of this stuff before." She admitted.

"Well, in a day or two you'll be in witness protection and never have to see me again, so feel free."

"Whoa, there, Citation." She held up a hand. "I don't know if that's what I want to do yet."

"Whatever. No need to decide this minute. You were telling me about your dumbass die-in-a-fire boyfriend."

"Right. I came back from college and ran into him again, and we started seeing each other. His father gave me a job as one of his assistants. We did a lot of society things, but we also started going to clubs a lot. Which, as you know, is not my thing." She poured herself another drink.

"Um, you might want to take it easy in case we have to get out of here tonight, or something happens…" I said vaguely, not wanting to alarm her.

"I believe I also mentioned I have a problem with authority." She drained the glass. Damn. She _was _stubborn. I couldn't help but smile, and sat back, hands behind my head, waiting for whatever came next. Yokas owed me _big _on this one.

"I told you before, I started seeing things and hearing things, and I eventually figured out what was going on. His personality, it changed. He became angry, violent. Not violent to me, but it was there. I mentioned I'd found out about him selling drugs and I'd asked him to stop. I thought he had."

I suddenly wanted to stop this, to go back in time. I was afraid she was going to tell me every ugly little detail, and I didn't want to hear them. It was one thing with a victim you encounter on any given day, but I already knew too much about her. It wasn't impersonal anymore.

"I remember the night it happened…" she mused. "He was angry about something before I even got there, and that's the night I saw him beating up that guy – I told you about that." I nodded.

" I screamed for him to stop and screamed for help, and he pushed me out the emergency exit at the back so no one would hear. I didn't know if the guy was alive or not. He looked awful. He didn't even really have a face left." She shuddered. "He threw me in the car and took me back to his house – his _dad's_ house – and I told him I hated what he was doing and wanted nothing to do with him. I hated the drugs. I hated what I'd seen him do and I was going to tell."

That was your mistake, I thought sadly.

"Evan started screaming at me. If he couldn't have me no one would. I was 'his'. He was totally irrational. I started yelling back. I think I said something like he'd never had me so I couldn't possibly be his." Sounded like her.

"That's when he started hitting me. He stayed away from my face, but pretty much got me everywhere else. I fought back at first, but he was …I don't know what he was. All I could think was that I was going to end up like the man without a face in the club. After a while I just couldn't fight anymore." Knowing her, she must have fought like a pit bull and totally exhausted herself.

"Then," she continued, "When I couldn't fight anymore, he dragged me into the bedroom and," she paused, swallowing, "…he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." She had her chin on her knee again and was staring at the coffee table in front of her. "Twice." She finished.

I felt as numb as she looked. A tear trickled down one cheek and I couldn't help myself. I pulled her into an embrace and let her cry into my t-shirt. It wasn't the full-on sobbing I had expected, just a lot of tears and sniffling.

Eventually she calmed down, and looked up at me with a tear stained face. I tried to wipe as much away as I could. She smiled a little and said "You smell good."

Ah, there it was.

"I was wondering when the vodka would start to talk," I smiled. I sat her up and swiped at her cheek with my thumb one more time. "Here, why don't you go get washed up and I'll get the bed all set for you."

"I'm ok." She said "I'll wait here"

"Okay." I agreed.

I stripped and remade the bed, then went back out to get her. She had not surprisingly curled up and fallen asleep. I carefully picked her up and carried her to the bed, tucking her in. I grabbed the extra pillow and headed back to the couch. What an exhausting night.

I lay awake in the dark for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

There was clattering coming from the kitchen. I could barely open my eyes. It felt like the middle of the night. What the hell was she doing? I sat up groggily and forced myself to stumble over to the small kitchen.

Kate had the radio on and was softly singing along to a melancholy Jewel song.

"Nice pipes."

She turned around and chirped, "Morning! Coffee's almost ready."

I rubbed my face with both hands. "What time is it?"

"7:30."

I could have killed her.

"How are you so-" I searched for a word, "_alert_ after drinking a half a bottle of vodka on an empty stomach?"

"First Yankees/Sox matchup of the season," was her explanation.

"You're a Sox fan." Sure. Chicago. Made sense. I reached for a coffee cup.

"That's a fact, _Jack_!"

"_Stripes_. Good."

She was shaking her head a little, with a small smile on her face. I looked at her wearily for a minute, then it dawned on me. Oh, no. This could not be happening. She confirmed it.

"I am a ride or die Red Sox fan."

"Die." I said, tossing the empty coffee cup into the sink in defeat. This just kept getting better. I shook my head.

This girl, I decided, must be the cosmic justice Faith had been talking about.

"Special torture." I muttered.

"_Grosse Pointe Blank._ Well played."

"I'm going to take a shower." I said, resignedly.

"Hungry? I'll make some breakfast."

I wanted to throw her out the window.

* * *

I was astonished to find asparagus in his refrigerator. And there were some mushrooms. Eggs. 'Let there be Swiss' I prayed. And there was Swiss cheese. Excellent.

Last night my plan had been to take my thing and escape whenever he decided to shower, but in the light of morning, I realized I didn't really have a plan. Never mind that he'd confiscated my fake ID the night before. I had nothing. Just a bunch of cash.

I needed a new plan.

I was embarrassed I'd been such a mess last night. Especially in front of Maurice. Sure, I was overdue for a meltdown, but still…

He'd been surprisingly compassionate.

Maurice. Maur_eese._ _MOR_eese.

I was insane.

I heard the bathroom door open, so I poured the egg mixture into the heated pan and started the omelettes.

By the time he came back to the kitchen I resembled a perfectly normal, perfectly sane human being.

I swear to God, I couldn't help myself.

"That was quick. Not much to clean?"

"Want to find out?"

"No. God, no."

* * *

The minute Kate was in the bathroom for a shower, I was on the phone to Faith.

"Anything new?" I asked breathlessly, "Any idea when and how we can get her out of here?"

"Bosco,it's eight o'clock in the morning. I'm not even out of bed yet."

"Eight-thirty," I corrected.

"Shut up. God, what's the problem?"

"She's freakin' Mary Poppins! Do you know what she made me for breakfast? And she cleans things! My kitchen is clean. I can't live like this. Asparagus, Faith! In an omelette!"

"As long as you're keeping your hands off her."

Keeping my hands off her.

"Keeping my _hands _off her?!" I exploded. "I don't even know the right way to _look _at her! I don't know how to _talk _to her."

"She's a human being, just like everybody else."  
"This girl has never had sex!"

When she finished laughing, which took a while, Faith choked out, "She's like a little Anti-Bosco, isn't she?" And laughed again. "I thought you said that wouldn't be an issue."

"It's _not _an issue! It's _beyond _'not an issue'. It's hell and gone from 'not an issue! Can you just do whatever you can to get her out of here?"

"I'll see what I can do." Chuckling, now.

"And she's a Red Sox fan." I complained.

"That's what hurts the most, isn't it?" She couldn't stop laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry it's so short! But i wanted to put something up today.

* * *

It wasn't as if I'd be going anywhere. I decided to let my hair air-dry and just tousled it into some kind of 'who cares'half-style. I wanted to apply makeup to cover the light bruise and scab, but I figured it would look worse, so I just settled for mascara.

Most of the clothes I had packed for my new life were work clothes. The best I had for casual wear was a fitted tee and running shorts. That was an unfortunate oversight. Easily remedied when I get to – wherever. I'd spent the entire morning trying to come up with an effective strategy. If I walked out of here while he was in the shower, as I had intended, Maurice would have taken it as a personal affront, and _never_ let it go. I could be 72 and living in Hawaii and there'd be a knock on my door one day. The other option, witness protection, was even less appealing. I could be dropped in some cow town where the chief export is carnies. Except they wouldn't be exported.

I sighed. I just wanted to get away and take care of this myself. The only good thing about this was – nothing. No, I guess it was good to be able to tell someone about it, finally. Especially since it was someone, either way, that I'd never see again after another day or so. So it didn't really matter.

Maurice was slouched on the couch drinking coffee.

"Any more left?" I asked, on my way to the kitchen.

"Do you really think you should be wearing that in mixed company?" he called after me.

"I'm not a _nun_!" I snapped back.

"Might as well be."

The coffee had been sitting too long and was burnt and bitter. I was too annoyed to care. I looked in the fridge for cream. Nothing. I poured the sludge out in the sink, poured a glass of water and returned to the living/dining room.

"You know," I said, fists on my hips, "I am just as bad as anyone else. I just don't 'act out' like _you _do_."_

"_This _isn't acting out?" he gestured at me.

I stepped over his extended legs and leaned right in for emphasis. "This," I said "Is acting _up_. Get used to it." I sat at the far end of the couch, tucking my legs under me and glowering.

"Okay, _Snow White_. Tell me the worst thing you've ever done."

"I've harbored resentment and hostility toward a member of the law enforcement community." I snapped.

"This isn't confession. I don't want a list. There's not gonna be any hand-holding and singing _Kum Baya_. Spit it out."

I knew exactly what it was, but I pretended to think.

"Well,the worst thing I ever did, and I still feel guilty about it, was spreading a rumor about a girl I didn't like, in 7th grade."

"What kind of-"

"You know what kind of rumor."

"That's it, Mother Teresa? Your worst moment as a human being?"

"Believe me, I'm contemplating a lot worse right now." I glared. "Your turn. You're extra snarky today, so this ought to be good."

Maurice shook his head and sat back defiantly. "_I'm _not playing."

"The hell you're not. This is your game!"

"Armed robbery." He fired back.

"What?" I nearly spit out a mouthful of water.

"These two thugs tried to rob me at knife-point. I just turned things around." He shrugged, then his eyes became unfathomable, distant. He'd thought of something worse while I was trying to wrap my mind around armed robbery.

"Maurice?"

He was looking down, but at a distant point.

"Um. This one time Yokas and I dropped of this guy off in enemy gang territory."

"_Enemy_ gang?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. My God." I didn't even know how to react to that. What to think. "You live in a world I know nothing about."

He looked down into his nearly-empty cup , then back up at me, with a set look on his face. Almost matter-of-fact.

"And that's the worst thing I ever did. Princess."


	11. Chapter 11

After that, I wanted some time and space, so I excused myself to the bedroom, thinking maybe I could get some work done. I had an article due Monday that I needed to finish. It was a good thing I could work from anywhere.

I'd made the bed before my shower, so I threw my laptop on it, and attached the cord, locating an outlet next to one of the bedside tables. While I waited for it to start up, I tiptoed back to the bedroom door and stuck my head out.

Maurice was still on the couch, coffee cup resting on his thigh, staring blackly up at the ceiling. Who could guess what he was thinking. I felt sorry for him.

"Um." I hesitated.

"Yeah?" He didn't move.

"Do you have Wi-Fi here?"

"Whole building does. Why?"

"Thanks." I ducked back into the bedroom.

I had just settled myself comfortably, cross-legged on the bed, glass of water close at hand on the table, when he appeared in the doorway, frowning.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I have an article to finish for Monday, and you seemed –" I stopped.

Annoyed, he walked over and snapped my laptop shut.

"Are you out of your mind? You can't contact _anybody_! Unbelievable!"

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." That was stupid.

He sighed deeply and dropped wearily on the bed to my left. I just sat there and stared at my closed laptop. What had I almost done?

Maurice flipped on his side and propped his head up, resting on his elbow. He gazed at me, consternated.

"If you'd left this morning, like you wanted to, you wouldn't have lasted a half an hour."

No sense in denying it.

"How'd you know?"I slumped back and unintentionally smacked the back of my head on the headboard. "Ow."

He laughed. " Wow. Talk about 'redefining irony'!"

"Oh, my God! You so did _not_!" I smacked him as hard as I could with my left hand, rubbing the back of my head with my right. But I was biting my lip trying not to laugh. He couldn't stop.

I had to admit, that was damned funny.

"I did."

"You're good." I couldn't control the laughter.

"I'm exceptional." He winked.

"Ooh. A four syllable word. Take me now! 'Do it to me Sheldon, you're an animal Sheldon'!"

"_When Harry Met Sally. _Too easy." He caught his breath for a minute.

"Like you!" And that set us off again.

"Wait, wait," I tried really hard to compose myself, "Are we actually having _fun_?"

"Fun in _bed_." He pointed out, and I fell forward, face in my hands. "Stop it! You're making me cry!"

It took us a couple of minutes to get things together, but I finally sat back again, carefully this time. Wiping underneath my eyes with my middle fingers to remove mascara smears, I was relieved I hadn't knocked my laptop to the floor at some point.

"Oh,God." I breathed. I glanced at him, because looking at him directly would have resulted in hysteria. He was lying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, one leg dangling off the bed.

He looked over at me. "I have to, you know." He said apologetically, trying so hard to be serious.

"What?" I was perplexed, still trying to breathe.

"Was it good for you?" he barely choked out.

I fell off the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

I looked down over the edge of the bed. She was curled up.

"You okay?"

She stretched an arm out toward me.

I pulled her into a sitting position and she leaned her head back against the mattress and sighed.

"I needed that." she said, and burst out laughing again.

I fell back on my pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Kate pulled herself up and sat beside me, cross-legged, studying me for a minute.

"So, exactly how many women have been right here where I am now?"

" A lot." I kept my eyes on the ceiling.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Nope." Yup.

She patted me on the chest. "You're better than that."

She grabbed her empty water glass and got up to go for a refill. I watched her go, and she paused at the door. She seemed about to say something, but thought the better of it and went to the kitchen.

I stared at the ceiling.

"I'm better than that. I'm better than that." I mused thoughtfully.

Was I?

* * *

As I filled my glass with water, I gazed out the small slider over the sink. There was a monstrous storm system advancing rapidly. The clouds were incredibly dark and very dangerous looking. I looked for a glint of light on the horizon, but I couldn't see beyond the storm. I loved thunderstorms and rain, but this did not look good.

The radio was still on.

_Black Horse and a Cherry Tree._

"…No, no no no…I said, no, no, you're not the one for me." I couldn't help but sing along as I twisted to try to see the clouds that were directly over the building. "No,no-"

I heard Maurice stop in the doorway. "Black Horse and a Cherry Tree... You know, I read somewhere that the horse as a symbol represents suppressed sexual desire."

I spun around and gave him a look of incomprehension and consternation. _What_?

"What. I read things." He said defensively,leaning against the doorframe, hands in his jeans' pockets.

"That is _not_ what the song is about at all." I snapped and turned back to the window.

"You want to enlighten me, Miss Know-It-All?" He leaned against the counter next to me and followed my gaze out the window at the clouds.

"The woman is at a crossroads, a place in her life where she has to make a monumental decision. A choice about right and wrong, good and bad; it's a moment of lost innocence. Fate has stepped in and she needs to fight the darkness and listen to her heart. It's almost as if she's momentarily lost control of her circumstances and is trying to regain it." That last part was a little too autobiographical to suit me. Maurice was silent.

"Looks like they'll be cancelling the game today." I gestured at the window. He squinted out at the quick-moving clouds.

"Looks like a bad one."

"Does this place have a basement?" I asked.

"Take it easy, Dorothy, we'll be fine. What do you want for lunch?" He moved away and opened the fridge door, peering inside.

"You don't really have a lot in there. I was amazed to find the asparagus."

"Mom." He explained.

"Ah. And I thought guys like you just dropped right out of Heaven."

He looked up at me in annoyance. "Do you want something to eat or not?"

"I'm starving." I realized. What time was it? "What do you have?"

He took inventory.

"Take out." He straightened and slammed the fridge shut. He opened a small drawer and threw a pile of papers on the counter.

"Pick one. They all deliver."

"Well, what do _you _want?"

"I don't care." He leaned over the sink, looking out at the approaching storm. We could hear the rumble of thunder.

"Whatever you decide on, get enough for lunch _and _dinner. I'll go shopping tomorrow."

He probably shopped daily, at a convenience store, three items at a time.

"Well, if we're talking leftovers, then it should be Chinese. I hate cold pizza. With the looks of that storm, we may end up without the ability to heat things up. Chinese is okay cold. And can sit unrefrigerated for hours."

"I said I don't _care_. Just pick something. And don't even _talk _about losing electricity."

"You know, there _are _some things you can't control. Do you have candles and matches?"

He glared at me. "We're not going to need them. Now just mark off the things you want so I can call the order in." He squinted back out the window, and a huge flash of lightning made us both step back.

"Damn."

A sharp crack of thunder followed.

"Damn." I agreed. The lights flickered.

Maurice looked down at the menu in my hand, then up at me. "Decide _fast_." I did.

* * *

"I'm buying." I said, grabbing the cordless phone off its stand.

He grabbed my wrist and wrenched the phone from my hand, giving me his "Whattaya, _stoopid_?" look.

Still holding my wrist, he said "What are you gonna do – give them your credit card number?" Oh. Duh. After the mistake with the computer I felt especially foolish.

"I have cash." I offered.

"Shut up," he shook his head at me, let me go and punched in the number of the restaurant.

Another flash of lightning close by made him nearly drop the phone. I could almost hear it sizzle with the electricity. He looked at me, eyes wide. The thunder that followed made us both jump.

"If you can't get through, we're not going to starve. You must have something in the freezer." I opened it. Ice. And the half-bottle of Stoli left from the previous night. .

"Okayyyy," I shut the freezer quietly, as Maurice was rattling off the order. I started looking into cabinets. Canned food, perhaps.

"What, no soup tureen? " I muttered sarcastically to myself. The cupboards were awfully sparse. "No waffle maker? Fondue pot?"

"Problem?" he queried hanging up the phone.

"Do you ever cook anything?"

"Don't have time."

"You do this weekend."

"Don't want to."

"Can I cook?"

"Whatever ."

"I like to cook."

"I like to eat." He was leaning on the counter looking out the window again. The sky was almost black.

"Look, I'll make a list of groceries and I'll give you some money – can you pick up some things for me?"

"What, like at a _market_? And I don't want your money."

"Yeah, an actual market. Imagine. God, I was expecting to at _least_ find Spaghettios and Cocoa Pebbles in there." I gestured back at the cupboards. "Just so you know: French fries don't count as a vegetable."

He gave me his pissed-off look and left the room. How I loved that look. I got a kick out of making it appear at will.

I went back to look out the window, and used my best cabaret sound for some Sinatra.

"_Some day, when I'm awfully low,_

_when the world is cold,_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you…_

_and the way you look tonight."_

With all the thunder I couldn't be sure, but I thought he slammed something.


	13. Chapter 13

The food arrived just after two, and I was famished. Maurice double-tipped the delivery guy because of the downpour, which was making the whole building rumble. He set the bags on the table and started taking out the containers.

"Table or TV?" he asked.

"What – all of a sudden my opinion _matters_?"

He shrugged. "Not so much."

"TV." I said, in spite of the fact that that meant eating in the bedroom. I didn't think I could bear a second awkward, mostly silent meal at the table. TV would give us something to talk about. I'd spent the last three years almost utterly alone, and here I was: the one trying to fill the silence. I should be thankful for it.

Maybe I wanted to talk so I wouldn't have to _think_. I didn't want to think about talking to the FBI about Evan and his father. I didn't want to think about having to start all over again in a strange place, trying to make it home. The thought of the decisions I had to make exhausted me, never mind what I was facing once I'd made them.

"I'll get plates and stuff." I said wearily and headed toward the kitchen.

"Everything okay?" he asked when I came back. Perceptive.

"It almost sounds like you care."

"I care. I've gotta live with you." There was humor in his face, and his eyebrows were raised, prompting an answer. It disarmed me. I sighed, relieved. I didn't have the energy for another battle.

"I'm okay."  
"You're _lyin_'. You said you'd never lie to me again."

"I never thought there would be a need."

"You don't _need _to lie to me about anything." He said seriously.

"Okay." I said, a little too defensively, "I just don't want to talk about it, then."

"Fine." He looked back down into the bag, then back at me, with defiant humor. "But we're talkin' about it."

"No-" I began.

He'd disarmed me, _then_ started a battle.

"Huh," I grunted in disgust, grabbed a fork and whatever container was closest at hand and curled up in my corner of the couch in defeat. Good thing I'd gotten the dishes out, I thought with irony.

Maurice had this smug, gloating, superior "I won" look that made me want to discover exactly how long a jail term for assault on an officer would be. I'd double it and do it standing on my head – it would be _that _worth it.

He vaulted over the back of the couch and settled in, feet on the coffee table, still grinning at me. "So what are we talking about?" He asked brightly, using chopsticks to poke at his glazed chicken."Wait - no chopsticks?"

"I've never quite mastered them." I confessed.

"We'll have you trained like a pro by the time you get out of here."

"Right." I sniped. "Because…twenty-five years versus a day and a half – I can see how you'd think-"

"Come here," he commanded taking his feet off the table. Hesitantly, I set down my fork and rice and moved over next to him. He took my right hand and held it up at eye level, positioning the chopsticks the correct way. I found myself paying more attention to the intensity in his face than the right way to hold the chopsticks.

"There," he breathed, "Now, just use your finger there to move that-" His focus went from my fingers to my face. I held my breath. He scared me to death.

Quickly, I looked at the chopsticks in my hand. "Well, let's give it a try," I gulped and said gamely, trying to snag a piece of chicken. I paused in shock when I actually picked one up.

I looked up at him in awe. "I did it."

"Yeah. See? Not so hard. Eat it."

"Oh, no, it's yours."

"We've got fourteen tons of Chinese food over there on that table. I'm good."

I shrugged. It was delicious.

"Ohmygod," I mumbled, mouth full. "This is fantastic."

He nodded.

"Keep those, I'll get another set," he nodded at the chopsticks and went back over to the table.

"I'm too much of a rookie to attempt rice with these." I complained, scooting back over to my side of the couch.

"Here, try this," he tossed a container at me, which I barely caught.

"Must be a Red Sox thing." He commented, smiling, and settling back in. I opened the container and realized it was the same stuff he had. Clearly, his favorite. Huh. A sacrifice fly.

"You're only talking like that because they cancelled the game. Otherwise you'd be crying right now." I needled him, struggling to handle the chopsticks properly.

"I can't believe an All-American girl-next-door like you could hate the Yankees. You alright with those?"

"No." My fingers twisted and I lost control of the chopsticks. I frowned. Maurice set his food down and slid over next to me.

"Here," He said, grasping my hand and the chopsticks.

"No, no. I'm OK," I insisted, desperately.

"Come on, try," He manipulated my fingers into the uncomfortable hold that I'd managed just moments ago. He was to my right and a little behind me. Feeling his breath on my neck was extremely unsettling. I struggled hard to hold the sticks the right way, so he could go away.

It was obvious this was completely innocent for him; he was just trying to help, in spite of all his comments and innuendo. But I knew without a doubt if he realized he was affecting me, things would turn.

And I couldn't have that.


	14. Chapter 14

"See?" I asked, finally getting Kate's fingers wrapped around the chopsticks the right way, even though I'd needed both hands to do it. I showed her how to snap the sticks tight once or twice before letting go.

Jeez, she was jumpy.

Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped up, throwing the chopsticks down on the coffee table.

"I'll be right back," she vanished into the bedroom, leaving behind the scent of flowers. I heard the bathroom door close.

I sighed. Women.

A louder knock this time. "Open up, it's me."

Faith. Thank God.

I opened the door. She swiped rain water off her coat, dropping her umbrella in the hall.

"Hungry?" I indicated the Chinese food containers scattered across the table.

"Sure." She shruggedout of her wet coat and I took it and draped it over a chair.

"How's the virgin?" Her face was full of mirth.

"Faith, she's not-" I began, then was unsure how to finish.

Her eyes went wide with alarm. "Jesus, Bosco-" she breathed.

"No. No, no. No." I shook my head. "It's not like that. That son of a bitch in Chicago-" I couldn't finish.

"He raped her."

I could only nod.

"Damn." Her eyes softened. "Damn."

"Food." I reminded her.

"I was told we can't really hold her. She can go if she wants."

"That's not right. Her life is in danger."

"That's just what I was _told_." She implied it wasn't imperative we act on that information.

"Yeah, just make sure you don't tell _her_. We can't just put her back out there on the street."

"I thought you couldn't wait to get her out of here."

"Yeah," I glanced behind me to make sure she hadn't come back. "But I think I can convince her to do the right thing. Give me another day."

"Is this because you haven't nailed her yet?" she joked. At least I hoped she was joking.

"Of course not."

"Hi, Faith." Kate was back, standing by the couch. I wondered how much she'd heard. She looked tired, wounded.

"How are you?"

"I guess as good as I can be under the circumstances." She gestured at me.

"Tell me about it," Faith said glumly, checking out the food cartons.

"Are you staying?" Kate's eyes brightened.

"For a bit."

Kate collapsed in what looked like relief at the end of the couch and drew her legs up to her chin. She left her food untouched. Faith gave me a questioning look.

"_I _don't know. She's moody."

"_She's_ right _here_." Kate's eyes flared, and she gave me a _'drop dead'_ look.

"You know what?" I looked at Faith. "I'm going out. Can you stay with her a while?"

"_Out_?" Faith demanded. "In this rain?" Thunder punctuated her thought.

"_You're_ out," I pointed out. "We need some things. And the way this one goes through vodka…" That actually made Kate laugh.

"Did you make that list?" I turned my attention on her.

"Paper?" she asked, almost snidely. "Pen?"

"On the fridge." She trudged to the kitchen and I heard her rip a page off the magnetic notepad.

She came back with a scribbled list.

I read through it, then arched an eyebrow at her.

"_Ciabatta_?"

* * *

Faith had fixed herself a plate of food and joined me on the couch.

"Not hungry?" She nodded at my untouched containers.

"I had some trouble with the chopsticks." I confessed. Understatement.

"How are things going? You two still at each other's throats?"

I nodded.

"He can be pretty hard to take sometimes. "

I wasn't about to argue with that.

"His heart's in the right place." She added.

"Seems that way." I agreed. "Even if he is a stubborn, obnoxious, _maddening_ human being."

"Preachin' to the choir." Faith said, taking a mouthful of lo mein. "He does have _some_ redeeming qualities."

"Sure. He's honest and direct. _Too _direct. And the man has no fear."

"Fear of commitment." Faith pointed out.

"He's a man. That's assumed."

She snorted out a laugh. "You got that right."

Faith looked at me sideways, fork halfway to her mouth. "Have you thought any more about going to the FBI?"

"Every moment." I admitted. I rubbed my face with my hands. "I just need some time. Time to think. Time to plan. You know, this situation isn't something I would _ever_ have wanted, but last time I ran, I just _ran_. This is actually an opportunity for me to get some kind of clue about what I'm going to do. As much as it sucks to be here, it's probably..._maybe_...a good thing. I just need some _time_."

"If it makes you feel better, this is probably worse for him." she offered.

"He gets to _keep_ his life. How is it worse for _him_?" I snapped, instantly feeling bad. It wasn't her fault. "Sorry."

She nodded and waved a hand at me, her mouth full. It was OK.

"You do have a point." She took another mouthful of rice. "He doesn't like an upheaval in the status quo. That's why he's out there now. Burning things off. Mostly so he won't take them out on you."

"He could _try_." I challenged. He'd get it right back.

"He can be very protective. Maybe you should just let him." Faith suggested, looking at me sideways again.

I sat very still. He _had_ been. I'd never had a man try to protect me. Never had a man _want _to. Not even Dad.

"So, he's like this white knight?" I asked, with sarcasm. Damn defense mechanisms.

She nodded at me earnestly. "Sometimes."

I sighed. "Nah, I have this thing where I have to do it all myself." I said quickly.

"We all do."

She poked at her food, and pointed her fork at me. "He does grow on you. Gets under your skin."

"Like a tick?" I quipped. Then paused. No, that's a bad analogy. Ticks burrow in so you can't shake them off. You can only get rid of them by burning them or smothering them. And when you finally scrape them off they take a piece of you with them.

She just looked at me, lips pressed together.

A huge clap of thunder rattled the building, and the lights flickered.

"Does he keep any candles? Matches?"

Faith shook her head. "Don't know. Doubt it."

"We should probably look. We might be needing them."

She nodded and set her plate on the coffee table. "I take these two rooms, you take the kitchen."

On my way, I took all the food off the table and stuck it in the fridge, and threw out the bags.

I rifled through all the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, even the ones above the fridge, which turned out to be empty. God, a cop without a flashlight?

In the last cabinet, pushed back behind some little boxes, I found one 12" taper, still in its cellophane. And I had matches in my suitcase. "Got one!" I yelled and ran to the bedroom for the matches.

I dug them out just in time. The lights gave one last flicker and went out. The bedroom windows gave me a little light, and there was the occasional flash of lightning. I could see Faith faintly in the doorway. I hurried to peel the cellophane wrapper off, then lit the candle.

"This is not going to be good," Faith said, then asked, "I don't suppose you found a candle-holder?"

I shook my head. "But I have an idea." She followed me to the kitchen, and I handed her the candle. Taking the bottle of vodka from the freezer, I poured it into a large glass, which I left on the counter. I took the candle back from her and screwed it down into the top of the Stoli bottle.

"I burned candles like this in high-school all the time. I got one of my parents' empty wine bottles and turned it into a work of art. I'd burn candles of all colors, and let the wax drip down and make patterns. I had a really nice short, fat Canai bottle going when my best-friend's little brother and his cousin decided they'd use it to shoot off bottle rockets. It shattered all over the sidewalk."

"That's too bad," Faith said.

Another bright flash of lightning startled us. I peered out the window, as thunder shook the building yet again.

"Blackout looks pretty widespread from what I can see." I said. I couldn't believe it was mid-afternoon. So dark.

Faith rubbed her arms. "I'm going to have to get back home. Bosco better get back soon."

"You don't have to babysit me. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

For a minute it looked as though she was considering it, but she shook her head as we walked back to the couch. "I'd better wait."

"Yeah, you don't want to _anger_ it." I pointed out.

We sat for a moment, in companionable silence, watching the candle flicker, then jumped when three loud thuds shook the front door.

"Faith! Open up! _Now_!" Maurice yelled. Faith rushed over to unchain and unbolt the door. He had three soaking wet paper bags of groceries in his arms. He'd had to kick the door. The hallway was nearly pitch black, the only light from an emergency light down near the elevators, one of its two bulbs dark.

He set the bags down on the table. While he peeled off his wet coat, I went and got him a bath towel from the bathroom.

When I came back, Faith had her hands on his face was was talking quietly to him. I handed her the towel and she wiped his face, hair and shoulders. He was soaked.

"Was that fun?" she finally asked.

"Tons."

Feeling a little out of place, I picked up two of the soggy bags and said "I'll unload these," while heading to the kitchen. It was strange, putting food into a non-functioning refrigerator, but I did it anyway. When I was finished with the first bag, I glanced out at them. They were conversing in very low tones, while she continued to try to pat him dry. She then handed him the towel and disappeared into the bedroom, coming back with a grey sweatshirt. He took his wet tee shirt off and she settled the sweatshirt down over his head. Like a mother and son. It was obvious how much she cared about him.

It was nice. And it made me feel achingly alone to think that even this clown had someone to care about him. And someone to care for.

The bag was empty and all its contents scattered on the counter. No pity party. Things were that way because I made sure they were that way.

Faith came in with the third bag and set it on the counter. She grasped my arm and I turned.

"I need you to do something for me." She stated flatly, in a low voice.

"Sure. Anything."

"Take it easy on him, just for tonight."

"What's wrong?" I dropped my voice to a whisper. There was enough light coming in the kitchen window that I could see her pained expression.

"I can't be here. I need you to take care of him. Will you?" Right to the point.

I was bewildered, but I cautiously said "Sure." What the hell had happened?

"Thanks." She said simply. "I've gotta go." Faith went back over to Maurice, who hadn't moved from beside the table. He had the fingers of one hand splayed, pressing into the table top and he was looking at them with an odd expression on his face. Faith put her coat on, went over and patted him on the right side of his face. "I'm sorry I can't stay. Call me if you need anything." He nodded, and opened the door for her.

She threw a look over her shoulder at me. "See you tomorrow, Kate!" I supposed she would.

"Bye. Thanks." I said and watched Maurice close the door after her, bolting it. He seemed to sag a little, and dragged himself over to the couch, where he put his feet back up on the coffee table, kicking Faith's plate out of the way. He leaned his head back, eyes closed and sighed deeply. I wanted nothing to do with this.

When I'd finished putting everything away, I went back out to get the dirty plates and leftovers from the coffee table. He was staring at the candle flame, but looked up at me when I walked around the table. Brooding silence.

* * *

When Kate leaned over to gather her chopticks, fork and food containers I could see right down her shirt.

And, yeah. I looked.

And, yeah, she caught me.

She'd glanced up at me and I quickly flicked my eyes up to hers, but she'd caught me. She froze, with a look of utter shock on her face.

She straightened quickly, looking at me like I'd betrayed her. She gave a derisive snort, then went back into the kitchen, making her displeasure known by making a lot of noise putting things away.

She couldn't make me feel bad about this. It was nothing. No matter what I did, she was always mad at me anyway. I might as well do what I want, right?

I felt like a perv.

Dammit. Not even twenty-four hours with her and I was already in that doghouse "I'm sorry, Honey," place. And she wasn't even 'Honey'.

Glumly, I pulled myself up and forced myself over to the opening to the kitchen. It was much darker in there, but I could see her silhouette in front of the window, looking outside. At nothing. I stayed where I was.

"Look, I'm sorry-" I began _again_ not knowing how to finish.

"Pfff." She said "Happens all the time. Don't worry about it."

"Kate-"

She turned around, her voice soft. "Forget about it. Let's just -" she exhaled, "I don't know, go back and look at the candle."

Okay.

* * *

I couldn't believe it.

Yes I could.

No I couldn't.

It was typical. What had I expected? I had really almost convinced myself that he _was_ better than that.

I think I was really just pissed off at myself. For thinking that.

I couldn't believe it when he shuffled over to the kitchen doorway and apologized.

I wanted to take him apart.

Only the expression on Faith's face when she'd asked me to take care of him stopped me.

"Kate-" he'd said, almost pleading. Go easy on him, she'd asked. I had no idea why, but I'd promised I would.

I turned.

"Forget about it." Now pinch hitting for Faith Yokas, #25, Kate Rogers...


	15. Chapter 15

**My apologies. I just can't re-write this anymore. I'm not happy with it. Please be kind.**"Do you have any other candles? Faith and I practically tore the place apart looking for them."

* * *

"I didn't even know I had that one." Maurice had settled back in his corner of the couch, hands clasped behind his head, eyes half-shut.

"No flashlight."

"Nope." He said tersely.

"Well, let's hope the lights come back on sooner rather than later."

No response.

"What'd I do?" I demanded. "What'd I do now?"

"Nothing. I just want the lights on." He snapped.

"You don't like the dark." I realized. _That's _what this was all about? All right. I could do this.

"I don't like the dark." He confirmed testily.

"I'm afraid of centipedes," I stated primly, tucking my legs under me.

"I didn't say I was afraid."

"Neither did I." I replied, hands up in a 'back off' gesture. "I'm just sayin'. I'm afraid of centipedes. They're hideously ugly, they move _way _too fast and I hate all those hairy leggy things they have all over them. They're creepy."

"They're just bugs."

"_Fast _bugs," I corrected him. "I imagine them storming me like that scene with the scarabs in _The Mummy." _I shuddered.

"You'll be fine. I don't keep my bugs at home."

"What, do you keep 'em in a warehouse somewhere else?"

"North Jersey." He had his head back, eyes closed again. "Tons of snails and maggots… It's a beautiful thing. 'You're afraid of bugs, get a bug'."

"That's not from a movie. That doesn't count." I pointed out. He shrugged.

"You know, when you're not being the biggest jerk on the face of the earth – " I began.

He opened his eyes suddenly and dropped his feet to the floor. "This is the _only _candle we have?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "It's not like we can run out and buy some more. The power's out all over."

"How long will it burn?" His eyes were wide. Intense.

I didn't know. "Hold on." I went back into the bedroom and found the cellophane wrapper I'd left on the bed, bringing it back out and holding it up to the light.

"It says it has a six-hour burn."

"And you lit it when?"

"Just before four."

"What time is it now?"

"Just after five."

"So we'll have _nothing_ by ten o'clock."

"Unless they get the lights back by then." I reminded him optimistically. "The storm seems to have let up."

He fell back, right arm over his eyes, and groaned. "I'm in hell."

I was going to say I'd be happy to help place him there personally, but I'd promised Faith. I scooted over and put my hand on his left arm. "It's going to be okay. Look, maybe we can play a game or something. Take your mind off it."

" A g_ame_?"

"Do you have a deck of cards or a board game or _any_thing?" I asked. He dropped his arm and gave me an "Are you kidding me?" face.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with both index fingers. "Okay. Unless you want to sing 'Nine Thousand Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer, our only options are to sit here in total silence or talk."

Head back, eyes to the ceiling. "Great. Why don't you tell me how life is all puppies, rainbows and lollipops, then I'll tell you how it's not."

"Life sucks." That got his attention. "I mean, for now."I paused. "I'm faced with this decision, and no matter what I decide, my life doesn't get any better. It stays exactly the same. Same stuff, different city: lay low, work hard, no friendships, no ties."

"That sounds perfect." Eyes closed, he radiated tension.

"I don't know why you think I'm Little Miss Susie Sunshine."

He gazed at me wearily.

"Look at you. Your entire life as you know it is over with, but you somehow found the energy and strength to make my life _completely_ _miserable_ over the last eighteen hours. You hum when you cook breakfast after drinking yourself to sleep the night before, and you _sing_ when I piss you off! What are you, Marcia Brady? "

"I have a positive outlook on things." I said, a little defensively.

"You said life sucks."

"When Iget beyond this, maybe it won't suck as much."

He leaned forward, pointing at me, too close. "You just told me no matter what you decide, your life isn't going to get any better."

"It will. It has to."

"Maybe that depends on _you_."

"Well, sure. Attitude is important."

"I'm talking about decisions."

"Here we go," I said, sitting back, slapping my thighs.

"Yeah. Here we go. You go to the FBI and in maybe a year the whole reason you're running is gone. And you get your normal life."

"Or I go to the FBI and maybe I get dead. Problem solved. These people could buy _anyone."_

"Not me." He said defiantly.

"Yeah, I noticed I'm still breathing." I said saracastically. "Or maybe I _don't_ go to the FBI and after a couple years they takes care of the problem _for_ me."

"That's the road a coward would take. You're not a coward."

I realized he was right. Walking away again _would_ be the easy way out.

I wasn't afraid to take the hard road. Sometimes I even threw up a few of my own roadblocks and made the road harder than it had to be.

I didn't want to admit to any of that, so I did what I always did when things got too personal to suit me and I changed the subject.

"Who's your favorite super hero?"

"That is _so_ random it makes me think you're trying to change the subject."

"Yes. And damn you for noticing." I smiled sweetly.

He gave me his classic smirk.

"Okay, I'll play. Wonder Woman."

"Why'd I even ask?" I smacked him on the arm.

"How about you?" he asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Spiderman."

* * *

"_Spiderman? _You seem more like the truth, justice and the American way kinda girl."

"Spidey." she confirmed.

"_Why_?"

_"_I love his sarcastic wit-"she began.

" 'Well, there it is'."

"_Amadeus._" She replied, then gazed at the candle on the coffee table.

"I love the fact that he just stumbled into it. One day he's just your every day nice guy, and the next he's fightin' crime on a string. Sure, he's a renegade, but basically a good guy who wants to do what's right. I mean, he didn't have the best childhood, but he never acted like the world owed him anything for that. All of a sudden he has these super powers, and instead of doing nothing, and instead of using them for selfish ends, he just goes out there and just tries to do what's right. Sometimes I think he doesn't even understand _why_ he does it."

Wow. I sure didn't get that out of any comic book I ever read.

Kate turned back toward me, thoughtful.

"That's what _you _do."

I froze, like she'd caught me at something.

"What." My voice was flat.

"That's what you _do_. Day after day. You've made a life out of doing what's right. I admire that."

I coughed uncomfortably. "It doesn't always work out that way," I admitted.

"But you make a difference. Every day. To _some_one."

"_May_be. I don't always get to see the results. And a lot of times it seems like it's one step forward, two steps back."

"Mmm." She mused. "Like this."

"This?"

She looked back up at me and I found myself holding my breath.

"_This_." She gestured at us. "Us. We're _hoorrrible _together. No two people in the whole history of the world have ever been more horrible! We bring out the worst in each other. Life is all about making each other better, not worse."

I frowned and thought about that for a minute. I didn't think it was all _that_ bad.

"For someone who hasn't had a relationship in three years, you're damned insightful," I had to admit.

"I have a lot of time on my hands to think about these things. Plus, I'm a writer. I observe."

" 'A writer _writes_. Always'."

"_Throw Momma from the Train. _Awwww, that's a great movie."

"Maybe you should spend less time thinking about and observing things and more time experiencing them." I suggested.

"Oh, God," she groaned, "I don't even want to know where you're going with that."

"No!" I protested. "I'm just saying. Get out of the house. Take a chance. Shake things up."

"Have zombies attack." She added.

What?

Kate smiled at the look on my face, then explained.

"It's a technique I learned in writing class. When things start to get stale or old or boring, you have a zombie attack, or set something on fire, or have the earth open up and swallow something whole. Maybe it starts raining whales. It can help get you back on track." At the mention of fire, I glanced back at the candle, which appeared to be shortening far too quickly. "And speaking of getting out of the house, I was doing just that when I ran into _you_. So you can see how well _that_ experiment worked out."

I had to ignore that.

"Tell me about your writing." This could be interesting.

"Well, I do a little bit of everything." She stated, then laughed."I once even did an advice column for seniors under the name Esther Newfield."

"Ad_vice_? About what? Denture adhesives?"

"It turned out to be mostly relationship stuff. And family stuff."

"Again with the relationships. How could _you_ go around giving out advice about relationships?"

"Observation. I spent three years at the office watching the girls bitching about their men. They'd whine and complain and then go right back out and make the same mistakes all over again. None of them even considered rethinking their priorities, changing their behavior, or making better choices. It was frustrating to watch." Kate shook her head.

"They could have just cut men out of their life entirely." I meant it as a good-natured jab rather than a criticism.

"Sure." she said earnestly. Then she smiled her big smile. "I see what you did there."Foul mood or not, I couldn't help smiling myself.

She paused. "It's different for me. It's not about making poor choices, or having unhealthy priorities, or continuing to take some guy's crap day after day. I'm just a wreck. I'm in so many pieces _I_ don't even know where they all are."

I thought about her shredding that "Missing" poster.

She continued, "I have to do some major renovations before I'd be any good for _any_body."

"So what you're telling me is you're steering clear of relationships to protect _other people. _It's for _their_ own good." Right.

"I like to think of it that way."

I snorted.

"Don't you think it would be _selfish_ of me to go after something just because_ I_ _want _it, with no thought for the other person? To use up someone's time, attention and emotions when I know I'm not where I need to be to make it work?" She demanded.

"Not if it's someone who can help you put the pieces back together." I argued.

"That's asking an awful lot of someone: 'Here, put my heart and soul back together and _then_ I'll give them to you.' You have to start on the puzzle yourself before you can get someone to help you with it. And when you _do_, it would have to be someone pretty damn special."

"You can't expect to finish it first. No one's puzzle _ever_ gets finished. You _always_ have to take a chance."

She nodded, "True. But it's just common courtesy to have _most_ of the puzzle complete. I mean, if someone's going to invest in me, shouldn't I be worth it?"

Pieces or not, she already was.

* * *

Maurice was looking at me as if I were some incomprehensible new species of bug that he'd captured under a magnifying glass.

"What?"

"Nothing." But he looked like he wanted to say something. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

"When you said I was 'better than that', what did you mean?"

"That you're better than that." I said simply and grinned. He just gave me a deadpan look. He wasn't in the mood. "That _I'm_ better than that. That _everyone _ought to realize that they're better than that. Why would you want to waste your time with someone who could 'take you or leave you' – and then does both?"

"That's the way those kinds of relationships work."

"But why would you want to spend your time around people who think that way? They diminish you. Every time you hook up with someone like that you're telling yourself you're not worth _more_. And you _are_." I poked him in the chest,punctuating my thought.

He looked at me thoughtfully, as if letting all that sink in. His expression was so serious and intense, it was disquieting. Again, I found myself wanting to back away and change the subject.

I tried a Danny Vermin voice and poked him again, " 'You shouldn't poke me in the chest, Katie. My father poked me in the chest once'."

"_Once." _he answered. "_Johnny Dangerously_." He gave me a slight smile, but his eyes were still serious.

I tried again," 'It's an 88 Magnum. It shoots through _schools'_." Better.

I moved back a little, resting my elbow on the back of the couch and propping my head with my hand. Whew.

"Now that we've solved the mysteries of the human condition, have you ever considered painting?" I asked.

"What, like _pictures_?"

"No, the _walls_. Maybe getting a plant. Putting stuff up on the walls. Making the place look lived in."

He chewed his lip and glared at the candle. "Not really."

"I could help you." God, if we spent tomorrow the way we spent today, I'd go insane.

Mild interest. "Like how?"

I shrugged. "I know how to paint. Everything is off-white. We could put some color on the walls. We could do it tomorrow."

"I don't know…paint a _room_?"

" 'This place is like a giant ant farm'."

"_Beetlejuice. _You've got to do better than that."

"Here, look," I jumped up and grabbed his hand, pulling him up. I took the candle and he followed me wearily into the bedroom. I assessed things.

"Well, first of all, you need to put that jar of change on top of the fridge where it belongs."

He just looked at me, eyes black in the dark room.

"I guess we could take care of that tomorrow." I conceded.

"Why on top of the fridge?"

"Because next time one of your friends says, "Hey, Bosco! I need quarters for the meter!", you can just say "On top of the fridge."."

"What?" He asked with an exhausted incomprehension.

"You don't want people rifling through things in your bedroom. It's your _personal_ space."

"And yet here _you_ are telling me how to decorate it." He reminded me.

"That's different," I said dismissively. "Anyway, you could leave two of the walls the way they are and paint the other two with an accent color. Like on the wall behind the bed, and the one over there," I gestured left toward the bathroom. "The bathroom door breaks up the wall, so it wouldn't be overwhelming."

"What color?"

"Midnight blue."

"That'll make the room look small."

"Nah – the ceilings are higher than normal. Put a valence over the window, some stuff on the walls…"

"Like what?"

"Something big and colorful right over the bed. And something on either side of the bathroom doors. Things that match in size and subject."

"No portraits of flowers." He said with disdain.

"No, I have no doubt you wilt flowers practically on sight. How about portraits of Rottweilers torturing kittens?"

He was silent for a moment."Okay."

"What?"

"We'll do it. Tell me what we'll need and I'll get it tomorrow morning." It was as if I'd exhausted him into submission. Or maybe he was just really, really tired. Either way, I wasn't sure I liked it.

"Have you ever painted before?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Just some stuff at my Ma's house."

"I'll teach you everything you need to know." I assured him.

* * *

The candle was barely a stub when we returned to the couch. His eyes were worried, his body tense.

"What do we do now?" He asked in a hoarse whisper, coughed.

"We sleep." I said simply.

"Yeah, right." He scoffed.

"Lie down," I instructed. "On your back, close to the edge." He did, hands behind his neck.

I tucked myself between him and the back of the couch, using his chest as a pillow.

"Now, close your eyes and don't open them for anything but a fire. You'll never know when the candle goes out. In your mind it's still burning. Next thing you know, it'll be morning."

"I can do that." He was trying. I'll give him that.

"Now, I am going to _bore_ you to sleep."

"How?"

"With _Hamlet."_

"Oh, God. You'll bore me to _death_."

When I'd had to memorize passages of Shakespeare for college English classes, I'd looked at it as busy work; something I'd never end up using in real life. It never occurred to me they might someday be useful as a sleep aid.

"Eyes closed." I reminded.

"Check."

Hamlet's 'Hecuba' soliloquy seemed a good place to start - the one that ended with the play 'catching the conscience of the king'. I tried to speak slow, soft and boring, with none of the emotive inflection they'd expected in class.

He laughed a little when I got to the 'whore' part, but his breathing and heart rate had become more even, and his body was relaxing.

"O that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew..." I began. Hamlet's rant about his mother and uncle.

My eyes never left the candle as it burned down and the last bit of wax and the wick fell down into the bottle. The light faded and I waited for it to snuff out completely, inevitably and with a finality that almost gave mechills, like having to watch the last of the brightly lit Titanic darken and slip under the sea.

By the time the wick burnt itself out, he was asleep, and the darkness felt like drowning. You take light for granted until you come to a place where there's no way to get it back.

"It is not nor it cannot come to good:" I whispered, barely awake. "But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue." End scene.

And I slept, too.


	16. Chapter 16

I could hear the radio.

I opened my eyes.

Sunlight.

"It worked," I breathed.

Kate made a tiny "Mm," sound in her sleep, as if she agreed with me.

My first instinct was the usual one: Sleeping woman? Get _out_. But there was no way. She'd somehow gotten her left leg around mine, and underneath again in some twisted way and had her ankle locked around myine. No way to do it without waking her. I sighed deeply and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

I lifted my left wrist and checked my watch. Seven. Two nights and this girl had totally screwed with my sleep schedule.

She sighed, then coughed, and I heard a muffled "Uh-oh."

"What?"

She looked up at me, startled. "I have dead arm. I don't think I moved it all night. I'll bet it's completely black."

"It's not black." I laughed. "But I think my leg is. Can I have it back?"

She extricated her leg, and I started to slide out from under her and off the couch, then stopped.

"Kate,"

"Hm?"

"Thanks," I said, so I wouldn't have to look her in the eye when I said it.

"Not a problem." She answered, and tried to prop herself up using her left arm, so I could get up.

She flipped herself over on her back, using her left arm to keep her senseless right arm from hanging off the couch. She picked it up and looked at it then dropped it back down lifelessly.

"I hate this feeling." She looked up at me, using her left fingers to comb through her hair.

"It's not black." I offered optimistically. "You get feeling back. I'll make coffee."

"Deal. I'll have a double."

* * *

She was in and out of the shower by the time the coffee had finished brewing. She shuffled into the kitchen barefoot, hair wet, no makeup, wearing a cobalt blue robe that came to just above her knees. Her eyes were drawn to the window, so she didn't see me pour the coffee intended for my mug on the counter instead. I grabbed the towel next to the sink, where she had paused, gazing out the window at the morning sun. I started absorbing the spill, but when she turned to look at me I casually swept the hot liquid off the counter and onto my bare feet.

I bit my lip, hoping I looked completely innocent and handed Kate her coffee with my left hand.

"Extra light, no sugar." I said, keeping eye contact desperately, so she wouldn't look away and see what I was actually doing.

"How'd you know?"

"It's what you had yesterday." I tapped each foot to shake off the coffee, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"Oh,right. Cop. Details." She held her mug in both hands and turned her attention back to the window. I dropped the towel to the floor and swiped at the mess with my foot, then kicked the towel behind me to the corner. I'd get that later. Picking up my mug, I swiped at the bottom to dry it, and wiped my hand on my jeans. I joined her at the window. Why she found the view so intriguing, I had no idea. It was pretty run-of-the-mill. There was a break in the buildings that made a narrow 'v', so we could see more of the horizon, but it wasn't much.

"My apartment faced an alley." She explained, as if she'd read my thoughts.. "It was like not having windows at all."

I nodded. "Hm."

She turned toward me, hip against the counter, concern on her face. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?"

"Last night-"

"Fine. I'm fine. I, um, thanks again." I looked down at the floor, then back up at her.

"Good," she patted me on the shoulder and started toward the kitchen door. "I'm going to try to find something to wear."

"Yeah. Ok." As soon as she was gone I grabbed the towel and disgustedly threw it in the trash.

Idiot.

* * *

I heaved both my suitcases on the bed and went through each item of clothing one at a time. Most of it was dress clothing for work.

"What were you thinking, Kate?" I tried to remember what was on my mind when I'd packed the bags, months ago, considering I worked from home more than anything. No fluffy slippers. It looked likeonly one pair of pj's. Maybe I hadn't been thinking clearly. Maybe I had been thinking I wouldn't really need the packed suitcases. Either way, as far as clothing was concerned, I was woefully unprepared for the situation I was in.

I started digging through the suitcases and throwing things all over the bed. I wasn't about to sit around here in work clothes. Turns out I had no choice.

Not a thing. Shoes? Black flats. Great. I decided on the black pants, and emerald green v-neck. I shoved everything else unceremoniously back into the suitcases, zipped them up and put them back in the corner by the bathroom.

I changed in the bathroom and threw on some make-up. The bruise was nearly undetectable. The scrape, I could do nothing about. I realized I hadn't packed a hair dryer either, so I used some gel and tried to finger comb it into something stylish. But it was getting too long. Oh, well.

When I went back out to the kitchen for a more coffee, Maurice was leaning against the counter eating cold Chinese food .

"Ohhh,nooo. Why don't you let me make something for breakfast?" I pleaded.

"Where _you_ going?" He nodded at my clothes..

"Got nothing else."

"You can't paint in that." He set his food down and went over to the fridge, bringing out another container and opening it up. He got another set of chopsticks from the silverware drawer and jammed them down into the food, then handed it to me. "Live a little."

I held that in one hand and my empty coffee cup lamely in the other. He took the cup from me and set it on the counter. "Eat." He prompted.

I looked down at the food. Boneless barbecue spareribs. I'd forgotten I ordered those. My stomach rumbled. I was famished. I glanced back up at Maurice. He gave me an expectant look. I fumbled with the chopsticks.

"Hopeless." He shook his head, set his food down and came over to help me.

"No, no, I'm good." I took a step back.

"You need to learn how to accept help from people." He frowned, grabbing my hand.

I pulled it away. "Can I get more coffee first?"

"Yeah, sure." He ambled over to the dining room and sat in the single chair at the far end of the table, watching me.

I poured the last of the coffee and wandered out, taking the chair at the far end, opposite him.

"Dining for six?" I questioned, indicating the set.

"Ma got a new set and made it clear that I needed this."

"It's nice." I shrugged. "So are we going to get things going in the bedroom today, or what?"

To his credit he didn't even blink.

Facepalm. I really need to think before I speak.

"You need to eat. We'll figure out the painting schedule later."

Determined, I tried using both hands to control the chopsticks. Maurice watched, amused, and let me struggle for a couple of minutes.

"Can't I use a fork?" I believe I actually whined. He shook his head.

"Well, this is a great way to control caloric intake." I said dryly. Then I had an idea. I took a single chopstick, speared a sparerib, and held it up triumphantly.

He slumped back in his chair in mock defeat, shaking his head. "You are the only person I know who might be more stubborn than me."

I popped the sparerib into my mouth.

"Oh, you've met your match." I hadn't meant it as a challenge, but I guess it sounded like one because, in an instant, he had my right wrist in his left hand and was wrestling the chopsticks between my fingers. I just sighed and let him.

"If you want to fight me on this, we'll have Chinese for every meal until you cooperate."

"You're not the boss of me."

"There. Do it." He ordered, standing over me with his arms crossed.

I did it. But only because I was hungry.

After two bites, he was satisfied enough to go back to slouching in his chair,sipping coffee.

"Have you ever wondered," I asked between bites, "how you got to who you _are_ from who you _were_?" I was thinking about happy, carefree Kate three and a half years ago. The Kate who thought everything and anything were not only possible, but _plausible._ I felt like life had tightened around me like a noose.

Maurice thought for a minute, then shook his head. "I followed a pretty linear path."

"So, you're not surprised at all by who you are now, compared to say, five years ago, ten years ago." I stated.

"Not really. Mostly conscious steps in a deliberate direction."

"So, nothing out of the blue, no surprises, no circumstances that changed things for you?"

"Sure. Life is full of surprises. But you have to know where you want to be and do what it takes to get there. Like you said, you adapt, you improvise, you overcome."

Or you run away, I thought. "You're so much braver than I am."

He frowned. "I don't know if I'd say that."

"Sure. Braver in the way you take on life. In your job. God, look what you _do_. You put your life in danger every day. And you never know what to expect. Have you ever been shot?"

"Twice,so far." He said matter-of-factly.

* * *

" 'So far'." Kate repeated slowly. She'd been about to put another sparerib in her mouth, but instead stabbed the chopsticks down into the container. She stared at me for a minute, her expression unreadable.

"I don't know how to talk to you." She abruptly picked up her food and coffee and retreated to the kitchen. She threw the Chinese container on the counter and dropped the coffee cup into the sink with a loud clatter. Back to the window, this time opening it.

I'd let her be for a while.

Not my typical breakfast conversation. Usually, if a girl stuck around that long, she'd chatter about shoes or shopping, the next hair appointment, clubbing next weekend, leaving me with very little to say, which was fine.

Time for a shower.

* * *

Rubbing at my stubble, I decided to leave it, and did the best I could with my hair, which was about two weeks away from _really_ needing to be cut. What the hell was I doing? She'd talked me into painting a _room_. I didn't know the first thing about painting. This would probably be a disaster.

Kate had cleared and wiped the table, and when I entered the kitchen I found she'd done the dishes, including the coffeepot and filter.

"Um," I began, hands in my pockets, searching for a safe subject. "The, uh, hardware store doesn't open until noon, but can you make a list of what we'll need?"

"Sure._"_ She agreed. "Do you have any paint supplies at all?" I shook my head.

She ripped one of the notepad sheets off of the refrigerator, and I noticed with a smile that she'd moved the jar of coins for me.

"First thing's first." She murmured. "Dropcloths."

"For what?'

"You said you've never really painted before. I can manage without dropcloths. But _you'll _definitely need some sort of protection. Just to be safe. You don't want blue rugs what." She ran the last two sentences together after seeing the look on my face.

"Nothing." I knew it was unintentional, but did this chick ever think before she spoke? "I just don't know anything about painting." I added slowly.

She went back to her list.

"All right. You'll need a small container of spackle and either a fine grit sandpaper or a sanding sponge. Get a 9" roller handle, and at least a 3' extendable extension pole. A three pack of 9" roller covers, ½" nap. Don't get mohair by mistake. Lambswool or synthetic. Two cut buckets, two synthetic brushes." She looked up at me. "The bristles are a golden color. Make sure you do _not _get the china bristle brushes. They're black. They're for oil based products."

It was like she was speaking a different language.

"For the brushes, I want the Purdy XL series, one 2" angle sash brush,and one 2 ½" angle sash brush. The angle is important. It's what I'm most comfortable with. Two gallons of latex paint, of the color you choose and a couple of stirring sticks. Oh, and a five gallon bucket for mixing and a screen." She jotted those things down, then straightened. "What kind of finish do you want?"

"Finish?" I echoed.

"For the walls. There's flat and egg-shell that are generally used on walls, and semi-gloss and gloss , which are used mostly on the trim. Your walls here are flat, but if there aren't many imperfections, you can get away with a semi-gloss. It's easier to clean. What's it going to be?"

"Whatever you think is the way to go."

"With the dark blue, I'd go flat,I think. It'll be more effective." She nodded, handing me the list. She inspected the expression on my face. "Maybe I'd better go with you."

I seriously considered it, but only for a minute. "No way. Stay here."

"You can always call me if you have any questions."

I nodded.

"Now help me move the furniture so I can do some prep work while you're gone."

"Yes, Boss."

We moved everything away from the walls in question, and of course she commented on all the dust bunnies under the bed. I reminded her that no one looked there. She said now that she knew they were there, she wouldn't be able to sleep and where was the vacuum. I got it out of the closet for her.

"I'm gonna go." I told her. It was early, but I just needed to get out. I had almost reached the door when she caught up to me and slapped six fifty-dollar bills in my hand. "My project, I'm paying."

"No way." I said, trying to hand it back.

"I insist. Painting a room can be expensive and you're buying all new equipment. It was my idea, it's my expense."  
"No." Stubbornly, I pushed the money back at her.

She stuffed it into the breast pocket of my coat and smacked her hand over it so I couldn't take it out. Then she stared me down. "Take it, or I'll call Faith."

That did it. I gave in. Not only would Faith tell me to take it, she'd be pissed that I'd bothered her over something so stupid.

"I'll take it, but I don't like it."

"Sue me." Kate whirled and headed back to vacuum the bedroom.

I'm pretty sure I slammed the door.

"Bolt it!" I yelled.


	17. Chapter 17

I'd wrapped up the cord and retuned the vacuum to the closet, when I heard the apartment door close. That was quick. I frowned.

"Maurice?" a woman's voice called.

Uh-oh. If that's Mom, this is awkward. If it's some girlfriend it's _beyond _awkward. I moved hesitantly to the bedroom door. "Hello?" A woman in her mid-fifties, holding a grocery bag. Mom, I guessed. She had dark hair and piercingly beautiful blue eyes.

"Oh, hello, dear. I heard the vacuum. Are you the maid?"

He had a maid?

"Uh… no, ma'am." I replied.

"Oh." She said, regarding me with disdain.

"Oh, no ma'am. I'm not that either." I said quickly.

"What are you, then?"

"I'm work-related. They called it 'protective custody'."

"Oh." Apparently that was okay because she looked relieved.

I crossed the room to her, extending my hand. "You must be Mrs. Boscorelli. I'm Kate Rogers."

She shook my hand and I noticed a fading bruise on her right temple that seemed to extend to her cheekbone but was covered by makeup. That made me immeasurably sad. It also gave me a glimpse into Maurice's character that made me acutely uncomfortable. It was something I should never have known, and would never have been told. I felt as if I'd crossed a boundary without permission.

"Can I take that for you?" I nodded at the bag. She was eying the scab on my right cheek.

"No thank you, dear. What happened to your face?" She was as direct as her son. She headed for the kitchen, expecting me to follow her.

"I, uh – these guys were chasing me in an alley and I fell and, you know." I indicated the scrape. "Maurice actually rescued me from these thugs. They were trying to – it's really a long story." I felt like I was under a microscope, but there was no way I was going to tell her how it had really happened.

I found myself babbling. "Faith was actually going to take me home with her, but Maurice didn't think it would be safe, you know, with the kids and everything, so that's why I'm here. Instead of there. Would you like some help with that, Mrs. Boscorelli?" She was unpacking the grocery bag.

"I'm okay." She turned and smiled at me. "Please, call me Rose."

"Okay…Rose." I was jumpy, nervous, skittish and just _so _wanted out of this situation.

"That's Maurice. Protecting his women. Why don't you put on some water for tea. We'll have tea and you can tell me all about your ordeal." She put some things in the fridge, murmuring, "Is that _fresh basil_?"

Well, putting on water for tea was just about the _last_ thing I wanted to do. But I smiled and, instead of digging out something to warm water on the stove top, I decided to just run water through the clean coffee maker.

"Um. Rose." I scratched at my temple. God, this was awkward. "I don't think Maurice _has_ tea."

She smiled and handed me the 100-bag box of Red Rose tea that she had just unpacked.

"Perfect." I smiled. "Oh, look. It's the one with the little ceramic animal."

Lightning, Lord. _Now._

* * *

A half hour later we were sitting on the couch sipping our second cup of tea when Maurice finally burst back into the apartment, two gallon paint cans in one hand, the five-gallon bucket filled with the rest of the supplies in the other. I jumped up. "Let me help you with that."

He waved me off, his eyes on his mother. "Hi, Ma." He put everything on the table and went over to kiss her cheek.

"We were just talking about –" I began.

"Life." Rose finished for me, giving me a meaningful look, the meaning of which was unfathomable to me.

"Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." I said nonsensically. But this entire episode was nonsensical to me. She'd managed to wheedle a lot of information out of me.

I'd given her an extremely abridged summary of the last day or so. I'd touched very lightly on the Chicago angle of the story and danced around the beating and rape, but she was very intuitive and made it clear she knew, without actually coming out and saying so. I felt as though I had the word 'Victim' tattooed to my forehead. That's when I got it. She was protecting my confidence. She didn't think I'd told Maurice.

"What's all that?" Rose asked him.

"Paint supplies."

"You're _painting_?"

He nodded in a way that showed he was thinking the exact same thing.

"Kate's decided to keep herself busy by upending my universe."

"I'm glad you're doing something productive on your day off." She rose and started gathering her things.

"Where you going, Ma?"

"You have plans. I'll get out of your way so you two can get to it. Stop by for dinner with Faith later this week." She smooched him on the cheek and he helped her with her coat.

"You don't have to go, you know." He examined her face, "Really." Suddenly, his eyes snapped to mine. He knew I knew. I crossed my arms and looked away. I could handle vulnerable, broken children, but not adults, not men.

"It was nice meeting you, Rose," I gave a little wave and escaped to the kitchen with the used coffee mugs, washing them while Maurice said goodbye to his mother.

I'd just dried the mugs and put them away when he came into the kitchen, fists in his pockets.

I smiled disarmingly and gestured to the coffeepot like a _Price Is Right_ model. "Tea?"

"You made _tea_ in the coffeepot?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"Where'd you get tea?"

"The same place you got asparagus."

He paused for a minute. "I'm sorry." He said.

"Sorry for what?"

"I forgot it was Sunday. She comes over every Sunday. Makes lunch."

I felt awful. I'd thought about how awkward it was for me, but not about how it might have been for her. "Now I feel like I ran her out of here." She'd come over to spend some time with her son; to take care of him. Instead she'd had to deal with a stranger.

"No. Not at all. She'd have done the same thing if Faith were here."

"She loves you so much."

He nodded and looked at the floor. "I guess I just don't get her sometimes." He said in a low voice.

" 'Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood'. Oscar Wilde." I observed. "She's your

Mom. Just love her."

He looked at the ceiling. "Sometimes that's all you can do. Isn't it?"

"She thought I was the maid," I said, and that made him smile.


	18. Chapter 18

I let Kate be the boss for a while. But only because she knew more about painting than I did.

She folded one of the 9x12' drop cloths in quarters and called it the 'staging area', which is where we kept all the supplies, over by the bedroom windows.

"How do you know so much about this?"

She pushed some hair out of her face. "This is how I put myself through college."

"Really." I was skeptical.

"Sure, I worked for the campus Physical Plant my freshman year. Sophomore year they put me in charge of the paint crew. I stayed until I graduated. I learned a lot."

"But it's so…messy." Not that she was a princess or anything, but I just couldn't imagine her willfully making a mess out of herself.

"Practice makes perfect." She eyed me. "You don't believe me?"

" 'I believe everything, and I believe nothing"."

" 'I suspect everyone, and I suspect no one'." She finished for me. I was about to concede defeat when she added, "I know it's Clouseau, but I can't for the life of me remember which movie. You got me."

"I win?"

"Just the first round."

"How many rounds are there?"

"As many as it takes for me to get ahead." She started laying out all the supplies on the drop cloth. I hoped I'd gotten everything right.

"First, we have to prep the room." She instructed. "That means removing outlet and light switch plates, and filling any nail holes, dents or dings with spackle. Once the spackle dries, we sand it smooth and prime it. If we don't prime it, the spackle spot will show through the final coat making a very noticeable flat spot. Got a screwdriver? You take care of the plates, I'll take care of the spackle."

Great. "I'm glad you can trust me with the tough stuff." I griped, trudging to the kitchen for the screwdriver. There were only three plates that needed removing. She'd actually trusted me with the tough stuff the very first night. Which was pretty remarkable, considering it was me she was trusting.

She looked up from where she was filling a nail hole, smudging in spackle with her bare fingers. "Put the screws back in so you don't lose them."

That made sense. I complied. By the time I was done, she was snapping the lid back on the spackle. She brushed past me to the bathroom to wash her hands.

"So now what?"

"Now, we wait for it to dry and have some lunch."

"Chinese."

"No." She said simply. "Do you have a baking sheet?"

I shrugged. "I think so."

"Great. Relax, watch some TV or something. I'll let you know when it's done." She said, heading to the kitchen.

"What are you making?"

"Lunch!" she called back.

"So now we have _secrets_?" I hollered after her.

I piled all the pillows up and lay back to watch TV. It was still too early for the baseball game, but I wasn't sure I wanted to watch that with her around anyway. I flipped through the channels and found nothing of interest, so I clicked the TV off and shut my eyes.

I thought about how kind Kate had been today about Mom, how extraordinary she'd been the night before, how she was an over-courteous guest, how she cooked for me, how she'd offered to help with the apartment…

She couldn't stand me. How did she treat people she actually _liked_?

After about twenty minutes I couldn't stand being alone with my thoughts anymore, so I slouched out to the kitchen to see what she was doing. As usual, Kate had the radio on and was singing along to Jimmy Buffett's despondent 'Come Monday'. She was painstakingly slicing tomatoes so thin they were almost translucent.

"It's a miracle I can do this with the knives you have." She acknowledged me without turning. Must be her Spidey sense.

"Want one?" I asked, snagging a beer from the fridge. I leaned against the wall, watching her.

She glanced over and shook her head, "No,thanks."

"What are you making?"

"Pizza."

"What kind?"

"You'll love it."

"What kiiiiiiiiind?" I whined wearily, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

"Greek gourmet. A little olive oil and garlic on the crust, then fresh spinach topped with sliced tomato and feta cheese. Black olives."

"Kalamata?" I wrinkled my nose, hoping she'd say no.

"Ooh, look at you with the big words," she smiled, her focus on the small bit of tomato she had left. "Four whole syllables."

"Yeah, but they were little short syllables."

"Well, you're smart that way." She paused, and pulled a pan out of the oven. She'd pre-cooked the oiled crust.

"They're actually just regular black olives." She reported.

I rested my forearm on my knee and dangled the half-empty bottle from my fingers.

"Can I ask you something?" Since when did I ask permission?

Kate glanced over at me. "Sure," then back at the spinach she was chopping, with a slight frown, as if she'd just agreed to something a little distasteful.

"I was thinking about how, um, " I searched for a word, "_decent_ you've been when you can't even stand me, can't stand being here…" I trailed off, not even knowing what I was trying to ask.

Her frown deepened, and she looked back over at me, sideways. "I said we brought out the worst in each other. I never said I can't _stand_ you." I just looked up at her, and she gave a quick smile. "It's more of a contempt, really, a deep-seated hatred. A loathing so profound-"

"All right, all right."

"Vexing you is very satisfying to me. 'I do not know why'." She said in a Spanish accent.

"_Mr. Deeds_."

" 'I hail from Spain, sir'." She confirmed.

I nodded, tipping my head back against the wall and closing my eyes.

"You're grouchy today. What's up?" She asked.

"I want Chinese for lunch."

" 'Get used to disappointment'." She replied.

"_The Princess Bride_. Try harder." I mumbled, then sat up, remembering something.

"You had something with _The Princess Bride _and _Grosse Pointe Blank._"

"Oh, that," she laughed, rubbing garlic on the now-cooled pizza crust, then sifting the chopped spinach over it.

"Well," she began. "_The Princess Bride _is the fairy tale. _Grosse Pointe Blank _is how things really are. It's the ideal versus the mess you actually end up with. The dream versus reality. Happily ever after versus 'who the hell knows'?"

"And you want the fairy tale."

"Don't _you_? Sorry. Stupid question." She shook her head.

"There's no such thing."

"I can't believe that. I won't believe that." Kate said.

"Look around you. Look at life."

"You don't even believe in…" she searched for something " 'love at first sight'?"

"No."

"_Really_?" She looked at me with something like sympathy, not quite pity. "That's what I want_._ I want to run into someone and just… _know_. A lightening strike. Like you read about."

"Are you that naïve?"

"You know I'm not."

"Yeah, well, good luck."

"Aren't we cynical." She started laying the sliced tomatoes over the spinach. "Jaded, even."

That's how I felt.

"Look, I understand how you feel. I know the fairy tale isn't possible for me– not here, not now. But I can be optimistic. Who knows what's ahead? Who knows about next week, or next… _year_…You know, I think I will have that beer." She announced and went to the fridge. I closed my eyes again. I heard her pop it open, then she started cutting what I assumed were the olives. "You know," she said " 'You'll meet someone. Someone very special. Someone who won't press charges'." She waited.

I opened one eye. "Is that a quote?" She nodded. "I have no idea."

"_Addams Family Values_."

"Nobody saw that. That doesn't count."

"Stop it, I've _got_ you."

I was about to argue, but decided against it. It would take too much effort.

"Mmm. Great song." Kate said to herself and made the radio a little louder.

"Hm," I grunted. A haunting song with some guy pouring his heart out about going wherever you will go, all of time. I heard her open the oven and shove the pan in.

"How long?" I asked.

"Less than ten minutes."

"For a pizza?"

"High temp. Makes the crust crispy." She explained and I could hear her running water in the sink to clean what she'd used to prepare lunch.

"Leave them." I said, squinting at her, backlit by the sun coming in the kitchen window.

"What?"

"Leave them, " I said again, standing, with some effort. "I'll do them after lunch." I hitched up my jeans.

"Oh, no, I made the mess-" I held up a hand to stop her, like a traffic cop.

"You've done enough. I'll do them after lunch." I repeated, giving her enough of a glare for her to know I was serious and not going to allow an argument. She took her beer and flounced out of the room, throwing herself down on the couch. If she had a pout, I would say this was it.

I was about to follow her, but realized that for the past two days, that was all I'd been doing. Draining the beer, I set the empty on the counter a little too sharply, clasped my hands behind my head and stared out the window. I still didn't get why she was consumed with this window. Maybe she just used it the same way I was doing now: as a time out. Time to regroup, analyze, plan.

I _had_ no plan. Does she go, does she stay… what do I insist upon? From what I knew about her, I guessed she'd end up doing the right thing. Faith wanted it done sooner rather than later, I didn't really care, and Kate seemed to face it with apprehension and foreboding.

I reminded myself it was her decision, in her own time, conveniently ignoring the fact that she wasn't working with all the proper information. Turns out, neither was I.

Kate blazed into the kitchen and pulled the pizza out of the oven, using a dish towel as a substitute for the oven mitts I didn't own. It must have singed her a little, as she dropped it on the stove top quickly.

"Looks good." I said. She gave a huff of annoyance. I don't know what it was about her today, but she was just draining the life out of me.

She pulled a couple of plates out of the cabinet, then napkins, and brought them out to set the table. I'd always thought of pizza as a couch food. I guess if it was 'gourmet' it warranted a table.

I opened the fridge and took another beer, which she promptly removed from my hand and put back. "You can't drink and paint. You'll never be able to make a straight line."

"It's a beer. I'll make a straight line." I argued.

"It's not as easy as it sounds. Paint doesn't always do what you want it to do."

"I'm familiar with that quality." I said pointedly. She rolled her eyes.

"Look, just-" she said, then opened the fridge and shoved a beer at me, " just go out there and – _do_ something. This'll be ready in a minute."

I popped the beer and threw the cap on the counter, but stayed resolutely where I was.

"So, it's gonna be like that, huh?" Kate asked, sawing at the pizza a little more ferociously than necessary.

She cut it into eight squares, arranged them on a plate, and brought them out to the table. She threw a piece at her plate, nearly missing, then set the rest in front of my plate more forcefully than necessary. I set my beer down and sat across from her, perplexed at her mood.

She sat with her elbows on the table, fingertips at her temples and stared down at her pizza, jaw set.

I watched her and ate nearly half a piece without even really tasting it before she even picked hers up. She took two small bites then dropped the pizza back on the plate and sat back in her chair with a sigh.

"Not hungry?" I asked.

"Master of the obvious." She snapped.

"Enough snark. Smile, dammit." Apparently that struck her as funny, because she did, a little.

"What's the matter?" I demanded.

She shook her head. "Just thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"_You're_ about to get hurt." But her smile was a little bigger.

"This is really good." I pointed at the pizza.

"Thanks. You can only do so much with the store-made pizza crust. I'd much rather have made it myself. But you're ill-equipped for culinary creativity."

I grabbed my head with both hands and squeezed my eyes shut. "Too…many…jokes!"

"What." Kate demanded. "I didn't – I wasn't – I didn't say _any_thing! You're just messing with my head. " She accused.

Just to show her I wasn't, I pointed out that for starters I was equipped just fine.

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she let her head fall back and sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her face with both hands. "I can't win." She muttered to herself.

Her hair curled around her graceful neck and I could see her swallow. She sighed dramatically, then looked at me sadly."You make me tired."

She did look fatigued.

"Then eat. You'll be needing your strength."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, but the spark, the glint I was used to wasn't in her eyes.

"No." I crumpled my napkin and threw it at my plate.

I was probably opening up a whole new circle of hell, but I couldn't help asking. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

For a split second, I could see Kate deciding whether or not to trust me with whatever it was. I was about to get really offended, but it was only a split second.

"I haven't told you everything."

Was I surprised? No.

I leaned back in my chair, resting my arm casually on the table. What new drama was about to unfold?

"I am stunned. Disappointed, shocked and dismayed." I said sardonically. "So, what'd you do now? You shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?"

That got a smile out of her.

"No, um-" she swallowed hard, glancing off to the side. "Remember how I told you that when I worked for the Benedicts I had access to almost everything and could look into documentation of their activities?"

"MmmHmm." I prompted.

"Well, one day when I was searching through all the papers, I had the opportunity to make some copies." She looked at me to see my reaction.

I leaned toward her. "You made copies? You _have_ copies?" Apparently I had the right reaction because she relaxed a little bit.

"Not exactly," she began, but I cut her off.

"What do you mean 'not exactly'? 'Not exactly' what?" I badgered.

She sat back, hands on her lap."I left _them_ the copies and took the originals."

For a second, all I could do was stare at her. "You're a goddamned genius." I couldn't believe it. "Where are they?"

"In a safe deposit box under the name Jenny Slater. They're sealed in plastic. There have to be fingerprints on them, right?"

I ran my hands through my hair and laughed. "_Yeah_, there've gotta be fingerprints on them! You're unbelievable. You're amazing." I laughed again. "No wonder they want to find you so badly."

Kate sighed. "I'm pretty sure it's more a _personal_ thing than just because I'm a threat to their drug …"she searched for the right word, "_empire_. Evan, the 'alpha male', wants to find me because I left and he's pissed that he didn't see it coming. His father wants to find me because I 'betrayed' them. Seriously, I think he thought I was going to be 'family'. I don't know what kind of person he thought I _was_, that he thought money and a flashy lifestyle could spin my moral compass like that. I'm pretty sure _he_ wants me dead. I'm pretty sure Evan," she paused, "wants to take care of me personally. I'm so afraid," she spoke slowly and closed her eyes,"that they have someone in the FBI in their pocket who has been just sitting and waiting for the moment I…" she trailed off.

I leaned on the table and looked her in the eye. "I'm not going to say that can't happen, but the odds are against it. You have to do the right thing."

"I just want _time_." Her voice cracked, and she slumped in her chair. "I'm between _lives_. This is like purgatory. A place to wait before I step down into hell."

"You made it clear you thought this _was_ hell." I reminded her, trying to get a smile out of her.

"That would make you Satan."

"I'm okay with that. Red's a good color for me."

She put her elbows on the table and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

"I just want _time._ There's no _time_. Tomorrow's Monday and-" she rubbed her forehead and her temples.

"There's no deadline." I interrupted. _What are you doing._

"But you go back to work and Faith was saying the weekend was all you had-"

"Forget about that. Those aren't your issues. You need time, you've got time. Besides, are you going to be able to paint that room in a day?"

"We. Not me." She corrected. "I think I've imposed enough."

"You're not a _houseguest_. You're in protective custody."

_Lie._

"Unorthodox though it may be." Did that make it better? No, it was still a lie. But it was for her own good. So it was all right.

_Right?_

"Really?" Kate asked, looking unbelievably vulnerable. "You'd do that?" I nodded.

She looked down at her hands, which were in her lap picking at her thumbnail. "Okay." She forced a pained smile. "Okay."

She got up and started gathering plates. I took my own, and was following her to the kitchen when she said "Maurice," and turned around so abruptly I almost knocked her over.

"Thank you. For everything." She said earnestly, searching my eyes. I felt like I was missing something. I looked for a deeper meaning, and came up with nothing. Was it an apology? But for _what_? It was over my head.

"S'okay." I mumbled, troubled. That seemed to satisfy her, because her face cleared, she smiled and made her way into the kitchen. I thought for a second before following her.

Things were definitely not as they ought to be.

* * *

Maurice dropped his plate on the counter with a clatter.

"Leave those alone." He reminded me crisply.

"Hey, no problem," I made a hands-off gesture. "They're all yours. I'll start sanding and priming the few spots we have-"

He looked me over. "You can't paint in that. I've got to have _some_thing-"

"I'm okay." I interrupted. What a stupid thing to say. Hey, I look like I work at a bank, but I'm okay to paint your walls! "It's not like it's a cocktail dress."

"_That_ I'd let you paint in."

"Funny."

"Come on."

He bunched up and pushed clothing around in his dresser until he threw a pair of grey shorts at me. They had a drawstring, so I could make them fit around the waist. Black lettering on the left leg said NYPD. Cool. A white tee-shirt followed. I held it up.

"New York State Lottery?" I queried.

"Yeah. It was tee-shirt night at some bar. I've never worn it."

"Wonder why. Guess you won't mind a little paint on this, huh?"

"You can turn it into rags for all I care."

"Rags!" I yelled, dismayed. I'd almost made him jump. Almost.

"Rags."

"We need paint rags."

He shrugged. "I guess I could go back out…"

"Got any old towels, or…anything?"

"Nah. I'll go back."

"I'll get changed and get things started, here." I balled up the clothes in my hand.

He started to leave, then stopped and flicked me on the shoulder, a half-smile on his face. "You know, the next time you want to talk about something, you don't need to have a mood-fest and make me drag it out of you. Just tell me."

_Mood_-fest?

I looked at him in disbelief. "This isn't a marriage! I don't need to _work _on things with you!"

He took a step back, and just looked at me for a very long minute. "Yeah. You're right. I'll be back."

He slammed the door.

We'd done this dance. He gets close…no, I _let _him get close, then I push him back, hard. Yeah, it was all about self-preservation, but this time I felt really badly about it.

I pitched the clothes at the bed in frustration, and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Bitch." I said to her. I wanted my brown hair back. I wanted my innocence back. I wanted that moment back.

I did the dishes while he was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

I threw the box of rags on the table, followed by my keys which, I'm pretty sure, made a dent.

One glance at the kitchen told me she'd done the dishes. That girl was so damned stubborn she made me look like a negotiator.

Kate had moved the radio to the bedroom, had it up loud and was singing at the top of her lungs to a live version of Journey's "Feeling That Way." I stood in the doorway, watching her. She was doing both the Gregg Rolie and Steve Perry vocals. It was cute as hell.

She had just finished emptying one of the cans of paint into the five-gallon bucket, and was starting on the second one . The song segued into "Anytime", and she sang the harmony. She'd changed into the shorts and shirt, but the tee-shirt was too big, so she'd knotted it at the waist. Her legs were damn near perfect, the only blemish, a faint red mark on her left knee, and a scrape on her right. Probably happened when she fell out of the squad car. I felt a twinge of guilt for letting it happen.

"Damn, you look hot in my clothes." I was trying to provoke her. But it was the truth.

I hadn't thought she'd noticed me, but she didn't even look up. "So what? So do you." She said offhandedly.

I was taken aback. "You think I'm _hot_?" I said, with something like disbelief.

Radio Guy said something about a Way-Back lunch and put on Peter Gabriel: "I Don't Remember".

She actually looked at me this time, straightening, paint brush in hand.

"I said you _look_ hot."She corrected me. "Then you open up your mouth, and-" she shrugged, made a gesture of futility, and went back to the paint.

"You think I'm hot."

Kate straightened up again and breathed a sigh. "It's not what I _think_. It's not my _opinion_. It's merely a statement of fact based on empirical evidence."

"Empirical-" I began.

"Evidence gathered from mere observation that need not be proven. It's a scientific principle." She rattled off impatiently.

"You think I'm hot." I stated again.

"Okay, fine." She conceded, clearly trying to dismiss the issue. "You're attractive. Okay?" She focused studiously on the paint, and getting every last drop out of the gallon can. The back of her right hand had little crescents of dark-blue paint across it.

She wasn't happy admitting that. This was starting to befun.

"Well, if I'm attrac_tive, _you must be attrac_ted_." I gave her my best mocking smile.

"I didn't say _that_."

"Oh, come on. You said you wouldn't lie…" I prodded her. She'd said vexing me gave her a sense of satisfaction, and I did find her frustration with the conversation extremely satisfying.

"Fine." She snapped. "I'm attrac_**ted**__."_ She spit out the last syllable, then set down the paint can and began mixing the paint in the five-gallon bucket with the stirrer. "But, unlike _you_, I can control my urges."

Well, this was just too good.

"Wait. There's an _urge_?" I asked innocently. "A couple of seconds ago, I was just some kind of science experiment."

"No." she said. "No."

"You said."

Kate straightened again, walked toward me, brush pointed at my face.

"Believe me, the only urge I have right now is to beat you senseless with this brush." She stopped in front of me, making sure she had my full attention. She poked me in the chest with her index finger, punctuating each word, "Never. Gonna. Happen."

"I know." I acknowledged, " But now it's in your head."

She gave a grunt of disgust and shoved me hard on the left shoulder, so I had to take a step back as she passed me to go wash the brush in the kitchen sink.

"But I'm not thinking about it." She threw back over her shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen.

I waited. Three, two, one. "_Now _you are."

My answer was a loud, unidentifiable clatter.

It was a hollow victory.

It didn't change anything.

I couldn't really do anything about it.

Soul Asylum.

'Way Back'. Music to live by.

* * *

I washed the brush thoroughly, and wrapped it in paper towels to leach out some of the leftover water. I was famished. Pizza and beer. Perfect. I opened the beer, drank it in 3.5 seconds, and gnawed at the pizza, frowning.

"Runaway Train"was on the radio. I couldn't help but smile. 'A little out of touch, a little insane.' That's me. 'Just easier than dealing with the pain.'

Never going back…

_Never_ going back.

I had no desire to ever see Chicago again, but I don't know why I was so nostalgic for the old me, untouched,unbroken. Unshattered.

_That_ Kate wouldn't have been afraid to let a man know she thought he was attractive. Had I been brash, young and foolish? Or just honest, open and fearless?

How would _she_ be dealing with this situation? Young, optimistic, enthusiastic writer Kate would probably be asking him every question under the sun about his life, his job, his thoughts, hopes, dreams. She'd want to know everything there was to know.

Because she didn't know what secrets were. She didn't know what lies were. She didn't know what it felt like to have things to hide. And because she didn't she'd assumed others didn't as well.

Had I lost anything by having to admit it? Not really. It just _felt_ like a loss because I hadn't intended for him to know. In the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't even that big a deal, right? Happens all the time, all over the world, every day.

I opened the window, and stared out at the skyline. It wasn't as if I had anything to worry about. He wouldn't even flick an eyelash off my face without asking permission first.

"Are we going to paint or what?"

I didn't move.  
" 'Don't bother me. I'm…_thinking_'." I responded.

"_A Christmas Story_."

Maurice came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. "I was just messing with you, you know."

"I know."

"The Way Back Lunch has had three kick-ass songs in a row and I haven't heard a peep from you. You mad at me?"

"No, I was _thinking_."

"About what?"

"About who I used to be and how different things would be right now if I was still that person." No point in keeping my thoughts to myself; the only secret I'd had left was out.

"You're still that person. Just got a couple of dings."

"No. I've been accepting Life on _its_ terms. I never would have done that. I would have insisted on my own."

"That sounds like the Kate I know."

"I wasn't all serious. I wasn't moody, suspicious, untrusting. I was free, capricious, adventurous, chasing after everything life had to offer…"

"Life takes something out of all of us."

"I let him defeat me."

"No, you didn't. You're one of the strongest people I know." He squeezed my shoulders.

"I let what he did change my life, color my perspective. I ran, but he _won_. It was all about power and control and about breaking me."

"It always is." He put his arms around my shoulders.

"God, you've seen so _much_, huh?" I acknowledged. "My problems must seem pretty minor in comparison."

"No." He said simply. "And it's not like you did this to yourself. I run into people all the time who, like you said about your friends at work, make the same bad decisions over and over and over. Most of their problems are their own fault, because they're stupid. You're not stupid."

Allowing him to wrap his arms around me wasn't exactly brilliant.

I could hear the radio: the Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris", which prompted a change in topic.

"Did you know that the iris takes its name from the Greek word meaning 'rainbow'?"

"Didn't know," he murmured.

"The iris is a symbol of faith, hope and wisdom. Actually, 'Kate' is a derivation from Greek as well."

"What does it mean?"

"Pure."

"The marriage of theme and form." He remembered _that_?

"You actually listen when I talk, don't you?"

"Every word."

I squirmed a little bit. "This is entirely too affable. Can we do contentious?"

"I'm tired of contentious."

"Contentious is safer."I pointed out.

"I'm comfortable." He argued.

"Comfortable is dangerous. It means you've let your guard down."

"Only if you're trying to protect yourself from something."

"I'm always in protection mode. As a matter of fact, I am way overdue for some Tabasco Therapy. You don't have any Tabasco sauce." I'd broken away, and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

"Why would I?"  
"It's great on everything. Omelettes, popcorn, salad. Tequila."

"What's 'Tabasco Therapy'?"

"It's my own personal mental health technique. It's a pain substitute. You burn yourself with the Tabasco and it takes the focus off of what really burns. It's like a quick time-out."

"Sounds like avoidance."

"Whatever works."

"Why don't you just deal with it?"

"I don't think I have the courage to do that right now."

He made a scoffing sound.

" 'What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us'. Ralph Waldo Emerson." I pointed out.

The music changed.

"Oh, my God!" I yelled, and smacked him in the arm. "The Promise!"

"_What_?"

"When in Rome!" I sprinted to the bedroom and jumped on the bed, doing a flip and landing on my back.

"I _love_ this song!" I shouted at the ceiling.

"So, um-?" He began.

"Shhh!" I hung my head off the bed and looked at Maurice in the doorway, upside down. I made a stern frowny face.

"Eighties music is your thing, huh?"

I rolled over and propped myself on my elbows. "It makes me feel good. Is that dysfunctional, too?" I grinned.

"No, I like you like this. It's like you had a giant jolt of caffeine. And a _lot_ of alcohol."

"Certain songs make me smile. What can I say?"

"Hey, that's great. If you're smiling, I'm smiling." He waited a second. "Shouldn't we get started on the walls? It's getting late."

I sat up. "You don't understand who you're dealing with here. Now that the prep work is done, I could do this myself in less than an hour and a half, and that's a generous estimate."

I could tell he didn't believe me.

"I'm serious."

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"Is that a challenge?" I demanded.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Okay….?"

I scanned the room and thought for a minute.

"How about this. I don't want you here heckling me, and I really need some jeans and tee-shirts. And white socks. You go back to my apartment and get them for me. And the city skylines by my sofa - those would be perfect on with either side of your bathroom door."

"I noticed those. I like them."

"Take them. It's not like I have a need for them anymore. And I'll be done before you get back."

Maurice gave me a skeptical shrug.

I dug my key out of my suitcase and tossed it at him.

"I'm feeling generous. I'll give you a five minute head start." I fell back on the bed, crossed my legs at the ankle and tucked my hands behind my head.

"Okay." He took a last glance at the room, shook his head again, and left.


	20. Chapter 20

I unlocked the door to Kate's apartment and pushed it wide.

It was a mess.

A very thorough search had been done. I could guess what they'd been looking for.

Closing and bolting the door behind me, I assumed someone was watching the place to see if Kate would come back . They probably knew better, but you never know. She'd mentioned the side windows faced an alley, and just a brick wall, so nothing to worry about there. Just the front window overlooking the street. I made my way through the living room to the kitchen, staying as close to the wall as possible so anyone watching wouldn't see movement. Armed or not, I really didn't want a confrontation with these guys. At least not right now.

Kate had said Evan Benedict would want to 'take care of her personally'. I wondered if he was nearby. That was a man I'd like a word or two with.

I looked around at the devastation. I wouldn't be getting a glimpse into her life. There was nothing left of it.

I noticed the cabinets over the stove were open. I had to smile. Nestled between the red wine vinegar and the olive oil was an unopened box of Tabasco sauce. I stuck it in my coat pocket. Tabasco therapy. Where did she come up with these things?

I stepped over the debris, toward the bedroom, and a small item on the wall next to the bathroom caught my eye. It was a 5x7" framed cross stitch. It read: "Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none. William Shakespeare. All's Well That Ends Well." It looked as though she'd made it herself. I took it off the wall. She'd probably want this back. It was so very Kate.

The bedroom had been ransacked as well. Clothes were all over the floor and the bed, the dresser drawers open and empty. I grabbed anything that looked like denim, and found a few tee shirts on the floor by the back door. I also picked up a red hooded sweatshirt. She looked good in red.

No socks, though. What'd they do, _eat_ them?

Unbelieveably, on the bedside table, the answering machine hadn't been touched, and the light was blinking. It felt like spying, but I couldn't help myself. I dropped the armful of clothes on the bed and pressed 'play'.

"Sat-ur-day, Nine-oh-three, A-M." the mechanical voice intoned.

"Hi, Jen, it's Susan from the shelter. You're about an hour late and we're all a little worried. Hoping you just overslept and you're on your way. Give us a call." Shelter?

The next message had been recorded an hour later.

"Hi, Jen, it's Sue again. Please call us as soon as you can. We're really getting worried, now. The kids are getting ready to perform and you put so much time and effort into this, we know you wouldn't miss it unless something were seriously wrong. Please call soon."

A similar message had been left at eleven, then another at twelve, indicating that someone named Rick had stopped by the apartment and gotten no answer at the door. And that was the last message.

Kids.

Shelter.

She worked with homeless kids on the weekends.

Our Kate was full of surprises.

There was a closet door on the back wall. I opened it tentatively.

The girl had more shoes than God.

The clothes and shoes were largely untouched, but a few storage boxes that had been on the top shelf had been emptied, their contents scattered across the floor. Mostly papers, receipts and things, but toward the back of the walk-in was what looked like a box of photos. On top was one that looked as though it could be her parents.

I resisted the temptation to go through them, and just piled them back in the box and fit the lid on. She'd want these, too. There was a gym bag stuffed in next to the shoes, and I figured that was as good as anything.

Laying the bag on the bed, I inserted the box of photos, with the Shakespeare cross-stitch on top of it. I scooped up her clothes and stuffed them in, zipping up the bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

I was able to keep to the right side of the apartment, clear of the front window, and rescue the two pictures off the wall behind the couch. But there was no way to get out the front door without crossing in front of the window.

I'd go out the back.

I clattered quickly down the cramped, spiral back stairs, pictures under my arm, turned inward, and walked nonchalantly down the driveway to where my car was, out front. Putting everything in the trunk, I stealthily checked things out. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement in a second floor window of one of the buildings across the street. The first floor had been boarded up.

Bingo.

I drove aimlessly for fifteen minutes before I could be certain I hadn't been followed.

* * *

Kate was lying on the couch reading a thick book. I set everything on the table, and she put her book down on the coffee table and stood, straightening her shirt. She had changed back into her red shirt, but had kept my shorts on. There wasn't a speck of paint on them.

She was about to say something, but she snapped her mouth shut when she saw the look on my face.

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

"They found you. They went through your apartment."

Her face went white, and she held onto the back of the couch for support. I thought she was going to pass out. I started toward her, but she held her hand up. "I'm OK."

"There's no going back there. They're watching the place."

"Any chance it's not them? Maybe some law enforcement-"

I shook my head.

She was silent. Then she nodded at the gym bag. "What did you get?"

I unzipped it. "Shirts, jeans. There were no socks to be found."

She pulled out her sweatshirt, with a fond smile. "I needed this."

Piling the clothes on the table, she went over each item. Three pairs of jeans, one pair of cut-offs, and six tee-shirts, one of which was a Ramones shirt. I pointed to it.

"Aren't you a little young-" I began.

"Aren't you a little _old_?" she shot back.

"I'm not old," I said, wounded.

"Whatever you say, Grandpa." She said good-naturedly, pulling the framed cross-stitch out of the bag. She sucked in her breath, then looked up at me. I could see that it meant a lot to her.

"Why did you –how…?"

"It was still on the wall, and I just thought you'd want it."

"Thank you." I was pretty sure there were tears in her eyes. I pulled out the box of pictures.

"I found this on the floor in the back of the closet. They'd dumped it out."

She touched the top with her fingertips, then withdrew her hand.

"I…um…"then she stopped. "I'm not sure I want to look at those, now."

"Oh, come on. There's got to be a picture in there of Baby Kate taking a bubble bath. I've got to see that."

She laughed. "I haven't looked at these in so long."

"Come on."

"Noooo," she demurred, gazing at the box wistfully.

"First bicycle. First toe shoes…"

Kate looked at me, open-mouthed. "How'd you know?"

"The way you carry yourself. Shoulders back, chin up….your legs."

"Kindergarten through high school. My parents wanted me to get a dance scholarship and make a career out of it. I just wanted to write. I wasn't that good, anyway. I still do the stretches and everything…" she trailed off, grimacing.

"You fought about it." I deduced. Like she'd said, I'm smart that way.

"Terribly. I left without saying goodbye. Story of my life. Two weeks later they were dead."

"That's not your fault."

"It's my fault for not calling them. It's my fault for not apologizing, for not reconciling before-" she broke it off.

"You were young."

"Don't make excuses." She frowned.

"Sure, you have regrets. We all do. But, really, how much are you going to regret not letting me look at those pictures?"

She sighed and looked at the box again, and I could see she was drawn to it.

"All right. But I reserve the right to deny you access to any picture, as I see fit."

"Deal."

She grabbed the box and I followed her to the couch, shrugging off my coat and throwing it over the back. She set the box on the coffee table, took a deep breath and removed the top.

As I thought, the picture on the top was of her parents. They were young, probably before they'd had her, standing in front of a short, fat pine tree in someone's yard.

"That was Grandma's house. This was before they were married."

"They look happy."

"I guess they were for a while." She acknowledged, then set the photo aside.

The next one was obviously Kate. She was about seven, and her face took up the whole frame. It was a little blurry. Her eyes were bright and wide, and she had this artificial smile on her face, as if someone had told her to say "Cheese!", and she did, but drew it out with the intensity of a child that age.

Kate held the picture and smiled. Obviously it was a good memory.

I glanced over at the next picture on the stack, and couldn't help picking it up, hoping she wouldn't notice. It was an instant Polaroid of an adult Kate and a person I recognized as Evan. They were on a park bench, Kate on his lap, arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his, smiling. She looked happy. He looked cold and arrogant.

The Kate I knew wouldn't have given him the time of day. How had she been sucked in by this loser?

Kate grabbed the photo from me and expertly flicked it, letting it sail right into the fireplace.

"Kindling." She said, and picked up the next picture.

She must have been about three, wearing yellow footy pajamas. Dark curls. She was holding a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh toy, and her expression was one of surprise.

While Kate looked that one over, I took the next one off the pile. It was a full-length profile picture of Kate, in her tights, leotard and toe shoes, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was posing _en pointe_ on her left leg, her arms reaching back over her head to grasp her right ankle, toe shoe just grazing her slightly tipped-back head. It was a beautiful portrait. Her expression was serious, but blank, as if she desired to be anywhere else at that moment.

"Can you still do that?" was the only comment I could come up with. That would go a long way toward convincing her I wasn't a boorish cretin.

"Probably not." She laughed. "Not without help."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. About a week before I started college."

"You don't look happy."

"I wasn't. I was miserable. My parents were pushing me in a direction I didn't want to go. Evan had dumped me so he could fully embrace the college lifestyle… Best thing that ever happened to me. Too bad it didn't stick." She threw the picture on the coffee table, stared at it for a minute, then turned to me.

"You're sure he can't find me here?"

"Positive."

"No way in hell?"

"No way in hell." I confirmed. "Oh, speaking of hell…" I said and reached over to my coat and brought out the Tabasco, tossing it at her.

Kate caught it and held it as if it were made of porcelain. "I think I love you." She brought her eyes up to mine, and said, very seriously, "But if you ever check me out like that again," she nodded at the photo we'd just looked at, and held up the Tabasco. "I will put this in your eyes as you sleep."

Clearly, I'd be blind before morning.


	21. Chapter 21

The Yankees and the Red Sox split the double header so neither of us could really gloat.

Maurice insisted on making dinner and I insisted on putting Tabasco on it. Which annoyed him to no end, considering it was a pretty decent Bolognese.

I'd had a pretty good time going through my pictures. There were all the usual suspects: fifth birthday, first dance recital, first bike, first day of fourth grade, first school dance, sixteenth birthday, high school graduation. Not too much after that. It had been a little sad: twenty-five years distilled down to one shoe box sized collection.

I'd tossed my prom picture with Evan into the fireplace, too.

Maurice had wandered into the bedroom and made an exclamation I couldn't quite hear.

"What?" I'd stepped into the room behind him.

"Looks great," he'd eyed the seam where the wall met the ceiling. "I see what you mean about making a straight line. That can't be easy."

"Especially on tip-toe on a chair."

"What _can't _you do?"

"Huh?"

"You paint, you write, you cook, you cross-stitch, you sing, you dance…is there anything you _don't _do?"

"I can't play the piano. Or any instrument for that matter." I'd always wanted to learn. "And I tend to kill living things. I go through plants like crazy. They're always overwatered or undernourished."

"How did you get into working with homeless children?"

I'd gotten that cold feeling inside that you get when someone says something that exposes you in a way you weren't expecting. "How did you find out about that? Are you Supercop? Or Miss Cleo?"

"There were a couple of messages on your machine. They were worried when you didn't show up Saturday."

"I've got to let them know I'm okay-" I'd started for the phone, but he'd grabbed my arm and shook his head.

"You _can't_. Whoever was in your apartment could have been there when the calls were made. They've probably already been to the shelter looking for you. And they're probably watching it, too."

I'd dropped to the bed and pouted. "Maybe can _you _let them know I'm okay?"

"I'll see what I can do." He'd promised.

"Are you going to help me with the second coat tomorrow?" I'd indicated the walls.

"You bet. Even if I _can't _paint a straight line." He'd shoved his hands into his pockets and inspected the room one more time.

After dinner we did the dishes; I washed, he dried, and it was rather companionable until he made a comment about me getting 'dishpan hands' and I had to snap him with the dishtowel. It had been a long and tiring day, so we elected to watch a movie rather than bicker and argue. We didn't even argue about which movie to watch. I flipped through his DVD collection and threw one at him.

"Really?"

_"Strange Brew."_ I confirmed. " 'Give in to the dark side of the force, you knob'."

"Okay," he put the disk into the DVD player, and I tucked myself in bed, cozy, hugging the extra pillow.

"You're not going to make it through the movie like that."

"Maybe not." I agreed.

Maurice settled on top of the covers, bunching the other pillows behind his head.

He was right, I didn't even make it halfway through.

* * *

Kate was asleep by the movies mid-point, curled up like a kitten, hugging a pillow. I was tired, too, but I could make it another forty-five minutes.

Next thing I knew, it just before midnight, the TV was just snow, and all the lights were still on.

I shut off the light on the nightstand, then the TV and went out to the living room, tossing my pillow on the couch. I shut the bedroom door for Kate, and went around shutting off all the lights except the one in the kitchen.

Someone pounded on the door. I hoped it was Faith. I'd called her cell phone a couple of times, but she hadn't answered, or called back. I didn't want to think about the alternative.

"Bosco!" Faith said in a loud whisper. I let her in.

"Where've you been? I've been calling you all day," I sounded like a spoiled child.

"I took an extra shift. I rode with Sully." She dropped her bag on the table and took off her coat, draping it over a chair.

"He likes you." I grumbled, following her to the couch.

"He'd like you, too, if you weren't so…you." She tucked her legs up underneath her like Kate did.

"You want something?" I asked her, gesturing behind me at the kitchen.

"I could take a beer." She shrugged and I fetched one for her. Then I filled her in on everything: the documents in the safe deposit box, the ransacking of Kate's apartment.

"How long do you think it's going to be before they figure out which precinct was involved in this little incident?" I asked, "How long before they figure out which officers? How long before they start taking a look at us instead of just looking at the places she's supposed to be?"

"I'm guessing not long."

"I'm pretty sure they saw me at her apartment. They're going to put two and two together."

"Then you should get her out of here."  
"What, like go upstate?"

"No, like go to the FBI."

I picked at my thumbnail.

"I'm going to take a couple of personal days." I informed her.

Faith arched her eyebrows at me. "Personal days."

"Personal _days_."

"You're voluntarily taking time off."

"You got a problem with that? You use yours all the time."

"You _don't_." Her eyes flicked to the closed bedroom door then back to me.

"It's not like that." For some reason, it was important to me that she understood that.

"What's it like then?"

"Nothing. It's like nothing." I hoped she was going to let it drop. She looked like she might, like she was too tired to get into it. Had I sounded too defensive?

"Just over thirty-six hours ago you called me, frantic to have her surgically removed from your life."

I shrugged. "She's a good cook?"

"You need to make her do this."

"I can't force her to do something she doesn't want to do."

"Oh," Faith nodded, in that way she has, and I braced myself, knowing something was coming, and she was going to be right about it. "So you've _told _her she can walk out of here any time she wants. She's just sticking around for the riveting conversation."

I looked away.

"And why haven't we done _that_?" She'd set the empty bottle down, and crossed her arms, looking at me like I was one of her kids and I'd just thrown a rock at a cop car.

See, the thing with Kate was that she didn't know me like Faith did. When she thought she had me pegged, I could make her think she might be wrong. Not Faith.

I wasn't sure what she wanted me to admit to, but I knew whatever I said I would be on the hook for it.

"I can't – she can't be-" I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.

"You just want to spend more time with her."

"No,that's not it." I tried to come up with what it _was_.

Faith just looked at me for a second. "Good night, Bosco." She said abruptly, and got up, threw her coat on and slung her bag over her shoulder, yanking the door open. She looked back at me.

"You have to be honest with yourself before you can be honest with me."

She shut the door a touch harder than necessary.

I lay back and started at my spot on the ceiling.

As long only one of them was mad at me at a time, I would be OK.


	22. Chapter 22

I paid the price for falling asleep so early. Around 2:30 a.m. sleep was no longer possible.

I lay in the bed for a long while, thinking about my homeless kids and the performance I'd missed Saturday. I'd tried to be a constant in their lives – God knows they needed one – and here I was abandoning them without a word.

I thought of Louis, nine years old and trying so hard to be a man. Francesca, four and cute and sweet and perfect. And I cried.

After a little while, I couldn't tell if I was crying for them or for myself.

It felt like it was for me, so I stopped.

Kicking off the covers, I wandered over to the wall of windows. Why did I spend so much time at the tiny, restrictive kitchen window when this one was available? Many of the buildings were dark, but just as many were lit, full of life. It was a beautiful dichotomy.

How many people were right now, like me, standing at a dark window, watching others live life?

I hadn't felt truly constricted until now, and it was as if the life was being squeezed out of me.

Three days ago, I could have walked out the door and joined the world at 3:10 in the morning, embracing life, coffee, an all-night diner and a first edition newspaper.

The lack of freedom was crushing. It felt as though I'd never know that feeling again. It felt as though I'd always have someone looking over my shoulder, making sure I was doing the right thing, making sure I wasn't making waves, making sure I didn't slip up.

I couldn't live like that.

I'd rather face Evan and be done with it than deal with this ridiculous restrictive cloistering for my entire life. Even one more day seemed impossible to bear.

I wondered how close to the door I could get before he'd stop me. Maybe if I tip-toed and only took one suitcase…

Who was I kidding? He probably already knew what I was thinking. In his sleep.

I'd forgotten my bedtime water glass, so I cautiously opened the bedroom door and made my way silently to the kitchen. Maurice was on his back on the couch, left forearm over his eyes, right foot on the floor.

I sipped the water and tried to look out the kitchen window, but with the light on, all I could really see was my own reflection. My window prison.

And it struck me how alone I really was.

And how I'd spent the last couple of years telling myself I didn't really feel alone. Nice. I realize I just don't want to be alone anymore at the precise time when I absolutely _have_ to be. That explained my attraction to Maurice: it was an absolutely impossible situation, and therefore it was safe and harmless to have those feelings.

How very healthy of you, Kate. Identify the feelings, make excuses for them, rationalize them, and then move on as if they'd never happened.

I dumped the rest of the water out and set the glass in the sink. I tried to remember where I'd left my book. I could read myself to sleep. I shuffled back through the living room, thinking it might be on the coffee table.

"Can't sleep?" his voice startled me and I believe I yelped. That made him smile. He was sitting up, flattening his hair with his right hand.

"No," I answered. "My mind is unrestful."

"Put a sweatshirt on." He directed.

"How will _that_ help?"

"Just do it." He got up and went into the bedroom. I followed him. He pulled a grey sweatshirt out of his dresser and put it on, adjusting the hood. I just stood there.

"Here," he threw a second sweatshirt at me. "Put it on."

I did. "So, now do we put the hoods up, hold hands, skip in a circle and chant?"

"No. Come on." He grabbed my hand and led me...out of the apartment? I waited as he locked the door from the outside and stuffed the keys back in his pocket.

"What are we doing?" I whispered.

"We're going upstairs."

"Up where?"

"The roof. I go there when I can't sleep. Sometimes it can put things in perspective."

The roof. Open sky, air, the city, the night. All the claustrophobia I'd felt melted away. This was going to be glorious.

"Stairs or elevator?" Maurice asked.

"Stairs! And _run_!"

We took them two at a time. My legs were longer, but he was faster. We were both out of breath when we burst through the door at the top. I stopped and looked around in awe. He put his hands on his knees, coughed and bent over to catch his breath. I went straight for the edge, leaning over the parapet to look down at the sidewalk and road below. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't care. The view from the kitchen was nothing compared to this.

"I come up here after work sometimes. Midnight." He cleared his throat, breathing deeply and slapping his hands on the parapet as well. "At this hour there are fewer lights on. You can see more stars. It's better now."

I looked straight up. Some stars were visible in spite of the city lights.

"It's beautiful." Understatement. For just a moment I felt free. "It makes you feel all the more insignificant and alone."

"The city makes you feel alone and surrounded at the same time."

"Alone, but still part of something bigger."

"That's why I love it. You can be as alone and anonymous as you want, or as involved as you want."

"You're involved in it every day." I pointed out. "_Really _involved."

"That's why I like coming up here. I'm still a part of it, but away from it."

"I'm going to miss New York." I confessed."Thank you for bringing me up here. I will definitely remember this. For a long time."

He looked at me sharply for a second, then quickly back out over the city, with a frown.

"You can watch people from up here." I commented.

"Yeah," he nodded. "There's this guy on the seventh floor across the street who is always watching _Frasier_ when I get home. Two episodes, two beers, then he goes to bed. And a woman on nine who hangs her laundry in the window."

"I love observing people when they don't know you're watching." I smiled. "I get a lot of ideas that way. From seeing people do the quirky things they don't think anybody else sees. Just last week I saw this couple. She and her friend were letting him out of this old red Chevette, right in the middle of traffic. He has his shirt off, hanging out of his back pocket, half a dozen tattoos. And he just starts walking down the sidewalk, and the girl yells out the open window, like she's _Rosanne, _right?_: "I love you!"_ she yells after him and you could hear the friend laughing. Right in the middle of a city street. So, he turns and yells "I love you!" back. Like it's nothing. Two seconds go by and she yells it again, and he turns around again, spreading his arms like "What the hell?" and he yells "I love you!" again, then goes on his way, shaking his head. It was just this moment in the middle of the busy city street and they thought they were anonymous and no onesaw them. And you know what? Two years from now, not one of them is going to remember that moment, but _I will_. I will."

We stood silent for a moment, and my bare feet stung from the cold, but I was too content to let this end. I held onto the parapet and leaned back as far as my arms would allow, staring up into the night. The night, the stars, the solitude reminded me of a Robert Frost poem.

"They cannot scare me with their empty spaces between stars ---on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home to scare myself with my own desert places." I quoted.

"Sounds lonely."

"It is. It's about being alone, not being part of anything. About being shut off to the world. There's a lot of symbolism: cold snow covering every living thing, and the darkness representing emptiness. The woods-" I trailed off. "It's about telling yourself you don't need anyone else. You don't need someone to care how you feel."

"We all like to think that at some time or another." He had his head back and was looking at the stars as I had been moments earlier. "You get over it."

I studied his perfect profile and realized that the emptiness I'd been feeling all night wasn't because I _was _alone, it was because I _had to be _alone. I finally wanted something more than that and I couldn't have it. What did I have left… at _best _a day or two? I finally find someone worth the time and there isn't any.

We spent another twenty minutes or so in silence, before he noticed I was freezing and insisted on going back downstairs.


	23. Chapter 23

Monday was a good day.

Tuesday was better.

Tuesday night everything went to hell.

But Wednesday was the worst.

* * *

MONDAY:

I shuffled out to the kitchen around ten, one eye open, praying for coffee.

Maurice was whistling to himself, at the stove.

"Kate likes pancakes?" he asked brightly.

"Kate likes pancakes." I grumbled, pulling a coffee mug out of the cabinet. I felt horrible.

"Don't." He said, turning around and pointing at me with the spatula.

I just stared blankly.

"I'm in a good mood. Nothing you do can ruin that."

"Yippee. Good for you. Happy trails." I poured coffee. Added cream.

"You're super perky this morning," he criticized.

"Yeah, I'm walking on sunshine." I left the kitchen and curled up on my designated corner of the couch, clasping my coffee with both hands.

Maurice came out of the kitchen with two plates, and handed me one along with a fork and napkin. I looked at it.

"_Blueberry _pancakes." I said, surprised. "Aren't you a carnivore? Won't it kill you to ingest fruit? I was expecting some kind of _meat _pancake_."_

"Hey, you got me to eat spinach yesterday. Maybe I'm growing." He stabbed at his pancakes.

"I'm glad I can be a positive influence in such an important area of your life."

"Well, life is about making each other better, right?" He threw my words back at me, putting pancake in his mouth, eyes wide with mock innocence.

I pointed my fork at him. "You can stop being like this right _now_."

"What? This is my normally cheery disposition."

"Your disposition is disagreeable at _best_." I scowled.

"The it seems to have rubbed off on _you_. Wrong side of the bed?"

"I got up on the wrong side of _life_." I snapped. "God, I've had hangovers better than this."

"You need to develop a more positive attitude. We have to paint today."

He gathered his empty plate, and my largely untouched breakfast and brought them both in to the kitchen sink.

"I'm taking a shower. When I come back out here, I want to see a better expression on your face. Think happy thoughts."

I fell back on the couch, arm over my face. "Are you going to wear your "Have a Nice Day" smiley face tee-shirt and 'Hello Kitty' boxers?"

"You see? That's funny."

"I hate you."

"There's a fine line-"

"Don't even."

* * *

I wasn't in the mood for introspection. Instead of determining why I was in a bad mood, I put all that excess aggression into moving the bedroom furniture so we could paint. I opened and stirred the paint and got all the equipment ready, frowning the entire time.

I put the New York lottery t-shirt back on. I'd shower afterward. I should have done it that way yesterday.

I snapped on the radio, and caught the beginning of Asia's 'Don't Cry'. That song made it impossible to cling to a bad mood.

Damn.

I gave in to it.

Maurice caught me in the kitchen singing at the top of my lungs and refilling my coffee.

"The magic of the 80's. You're smiling."

"It works faster than coffee. Is that Slade?" I brushed by him, using my left hand to start twisting the tee-shirt into a knot as I had the day before.

Sure enough. 'Run Runaway'. "Happiest song ever!" I shouted over the music.

He just looked amused.

"So, it's going to be a good day."

"Hell, yeah! I think my headache's gone."

"Mine's just beginning." But he was smiling.

"Don't tell me we're going to get along."

"Anything can happen." He supposed.

"I'll believe that when I see you paint a straight line."

"Let's go."

" 'I ain't runnin' no damn daisy farm. My motto is do it my way or watch your butt'!"

"No idea."

I sighed. "_Raising Arizona_."

"A little obscure."

"Only to you."

I'd already put paint in the cut buckets, so I handed him one, along with the 2" brush. He held the brush like it was a spade. I shook my head. He tried to hold it like a pencil.

"No, Grasshopper." I held my hand up. "Pretend you're stopping traffic. Four fingers together, thumb out." He copied me with his right hand. "Now swing the thumb forward." He did. I grabbed the brush from his left hand and inserted it between his right fingers and thumb.

"Four fingers on one side, thumb on the other. It feels awkward, but after a while, you'll get used to it. It gives you better control."

He held it up and looked at it. "It doesn't feel right."

"It is right." I said patiently. "It won't feel that way at first. In fact, it'll be pretty uncomfortable for a while. But before you know it, you won't even notice it anymore – it'll feel perfectly natural. Second nature. Like it's always been there."

He looked at the brush skeptically.

I continued. "Now, we're doing a second coat, so it doesn't have to be as thick as the first one. We're going to cut in around the edges, then use the roller to paint the walls. What you want is a 3" border along all the edges. Watch."

I stepped over to the bathroom door and dipped the brush, showing him how to tap it against the inside of the bucket to regulate the amount of paint. Then I ran the brush down the wall next to the door frame.

"Wow. Just like that."

"Most people advocate going from dry wall to wet paint on the next stroke in order to avoid lap marks, but it depends on what you're comfortable with." I finished the right side from top to bottom.

"It doesn't look that hard."

"Give it a shot." I pointed to the other side of the door frame. "Start there."

I watched his eyes narrow in concentration and he pressed his lips together, lines appearing on his forehead. Finally, his expression cleared and he looked at me, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"Hm?"I asked after a minute.

"How's that?" he asked.

I glanced at the wall.

"Oh, honey, you are just not good."

"But for a first attempt, it's –"

"Not good." I finished "You can't rush it. Go slow until you get the hang of it. Patience."

"Patience. What's that?"

"Exactly. Just take your time. Why don't you do this wall along the baseboards and around the door. I'll do along the ceiling."

"Okay."

I actually finished the rest of the room while he struggled with that section. He worked doggedly, determined to get it right. I watched him finish the last of the wall above the baseboard. He sat, a little dejected, resting his elbows on his knees, paintbrush dangling from his right hand. His expression was grim and adorable.

"Okay, so you're not a finesse guy. That's okay. I should have surmised that. Let's get the brushes clean and we'll see if you can handle a roller."

I took his bucket and emptied it back into the five-gallon bucket. "Come on, I'll show you how to clean the brush."

"There's a special way to clean paint out of a brush?" He followed me to the kitchen.  
"Yes, it's called 'thoroughly'."

I ran the water lukewarm and worked the brush with my fingers to get all the paint out of middle.

"Hold the brush with the bristles down. Running water _into _the brush can wreck it…"I began.

"Blah, blah, blah." Maurice intoned, nudging me out of the way and putting his brush under the running water..

"Two minutes for elbowing." I shouldered him back over. I still had hockey on the brain from _Strange Brew_.

He pushed me again, and I got water all over the counter.

"You're asking for a serious body check!"

"_Ask_ing? I'm _begging_!" He rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Begging implies a position of weakness."

"Any position you want, sweetheart." He was frowning at the blue paint that was still streaming out of his brush. My brush was still loaded with water so I flicked it at him.

"Thus endeth the gratuitous comments for today." I said, watching him wipe the water off his face.

He nonchalantly continued washing his brush. "You don't want to have to try to outrun me." He warned.

I figured an arm's length was safe enough, so I reached out with the brush and painted the side of his face with water. I was wrong. Before I could retract my arm he had my by the wrist, reeled me in and threw me over his shoulder effortlessly.

"Put me down."

"You've been asking for this from day one."

No.

Oh,no.

He had my legs banded down with his arms, one above the knees, one below, so all I could do was pound on his back with my fists. I had mere seconds.

"Okay, put me down. Put me down!"

"Nuh-uh. No way."

He flicked on the bathroom light, started the shower, set me down in the icy spray and stepped back with a satisfied smile.

With my left hand I spun the water control dial to make it warmer while my right pulled the soaking wet tee shirt away from my body.

"It's a white shirt, too." I complained.

"Icing on the cake."

"Get out." I demanded, closing the shower curtain.

He shut the door behind him.


	24. Chapter 24

"If an enemy is bent on conquering you and proposes to turn all of his resources to that end, he is at war with you; and you - unless you contemplate surrender - are at war with him. Moreover- unless you contemplate treason- your objective, like his, will be victory. Not 'peace', but victory." -Barry Goldwater

* * *

I was looking for some kind of stability - not permanence - but some kind of consistency that would counteract the transience I was experiencing.

That's why I let it go.

I was my own worst enemy.

I should have hit back harder, and that had been my instinct, but I was so very tired of it all, and in the interest of a hopefully _bearable_ day or so, I let it go.

But I guess we all know the guy who hits hardest is the one who wins, right?

Unless a brick falls out of the sky.

Leaving my wet clothes in the sink, I had no choice but to wrap myself in a towel and go find something dry to wear. Going through one of my suitcases, I pulled out a pair of jeans and couldn't make up my mind between the maroon tee shirt and the purple one.

" 'Can I borrow your towel for a sec? My car just hit a water buffalo'." Maurice was leaning on the door frame holding a cup of coffee.

"_Fletch_. Too easy, but extra points for the _ex_cellent Chevy Chase inflection. You got somewhere to do laundry around here?"

"Down the hall."

Choosing the maroon shirt and went to the bathroom to change. "I should wash these." I said of the clothes in the sink. "And evverything else I have. Can you take me there?"

"There. Here. Wherever."

I stuck my head out the bathroom door, squinting at him.

"Your heart's not in it anymore. It's no fun unless you mean it."

He shrugged. "I could mean it." He said blandly.

Yeah. That was convincing.

"But you _don't_. It's not right. "You say 'yes', I say 'no' . I say 'Stop', you say 'Go, go, go'." I intentionally reversed the lyrics. "That's the way things are supposed to be. This is just very, very wrong."

He shrugged again and made a non-committal face.

"Take me to bed."

"No."

"See? That's actually a sign of the apocalypse." I pointed at him.

I shut the door and got dressed. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but that wasn't it.

* * *

_No_?

Hell.

Apocalypse?

Maybe.

It sounded as though she was talking to herself.

" 'Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I! Decline! It's the end of the world as we know it…"

She was singing _again_.

I shook my head and went back to the kitchen for more coffee.

"Leonard Bernstein!" I could hear her shout.

I opened the kitchen window and stared out at the ever-changing city.

But the things I wanted to change weren't out there.

I felt as though I was waking up from something.

I told myself it was infatuation and would burn itself out very quickly.

I told myself that it wasn't important and that it didn't mean anything.

And when she entered the kitchen, saying "Hey," barefoot in jeans and a fitted tee shirt and I turned from the window, and she took my breath away anyway.

"Are you alright? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine."

"Well," she said, nodding at my coffee," depending on how much energy you have, I think we can get things done in about a half an hour." She directed a thumb back at the bedroom.

I started to smile and she said, adorably, innocently, "God, I did it again, didn't I?"

I just smiled and shook my head. What can you do?

Very deliberately, I set my coffee cup in the sink and, while passing her to go back to the bedroom, I leaned in close and said softly, "There's no hurry. I want to be very thorough."

I meant that in so many ways.

Ways I wasn't even sure of yet.

* * *

He'd thrown me a change-up.

Damn, he could turn it on when he wanted to.

Out of my _league_? Ha.

It felt as though I'd pretty much been at his mercy the entire time. And I hoped I hadn't just gone and pointed that out.

I got a glass of ice water to kill time while I tried to put a nonchalant, unaffected look on my face.

I exhaled deeply and trudged to the bedroom.

He was looking out the window, hands in his back pockets.

Maurice Boscorelli.

My kryptonite.

He turned when he heard me set my water glass on one of the nightstands.

"Where do we start?"

I had about forty-five answers for that, and I'm pretty sure none of them involved paint.

I pointed at the five-gallon bucket.

"There."


	25. Chapter 25

I did the best that I could, but think about what I was working with.

First, I explained the process of applying paint to the wall, then gave a demonstration.

I'm _not_ a bad teacher.

By the end of things, he'd knocked over a lamp, dribbled paint all over the right leg of his jeans, stepped on something sharp that we never did find, and most of his left foot was blue.

Maurice set the roller hook on the screen in the bucket, his expression pleading.

"I couldn't help it. Look what you did."

"You're blaming me for this? Like we had a paint fight that you lost?"

"I wouldn't lose a paint fight."

"You just _did._ Go get cleaned up. I'll take care of the rest of this. But be careful. The paint will go anywhere it can, and you'll _never_ get it out of the grout. And don't forget to hop." I pointed at his foot.

He made a face and hobbled over to the bathroom on one foot and his left heel, which had somehow escaped unscathed. He threw his tee shirt inside out on the floor and stepped onto it, then started undoing his jeans.

"Hey." I said "Hey!" I gestured at the door.

He gave me a look like he was damn well going to do it anyway before slamming the bathroom door shut.

By the time he came out fifteen minutes later, without a hint of blue, I had fixed up the long wall so that it looked pretty good. I'd also gotten everything cleaned up and the pile of paint supplies were neatly on a 2x2' square.

"Well. That was a disaster. I've never seen anything quite like that." I said of his painting debacle. I had been lying on my back on the bed, eyes closed. I could hear him going through his dresser drawers. I sat up and stretched. And choked.

"What are you doing?!"

"Finding something to wear."

"That's a towel!"

He pointed at the bathroom. "You didn't want to see the boxers!"

"How is this different?"

"You did the same thing."

I gestured at my suitcases. "That's because all my clothes were out…here." I finished lamely.

"Mmhm. Are you done overreacting?"

"Pretty sure." I sprung off the bed and headed for the kitchen. Missing most of breakfast had left me a little light-headed.

I made turkey clubs for our late lunch and he complained that there were no fries.

"Try to think of it as my continuing positive influence."

"There's _bacon _on the sandwich." He reminded me.

"There's got to be a _little_ sin, right?"

"Gotta be."

"You're lucky I didn't put a layer of avocado in there." I dropped my crumpled napkin on my empty plate.

"That's disgusting."

"Disgusting is a cop with a little bit of mayo right there." I pointed. He wiped it off with the side of his hand, then wiped his hand with his napkin. Crumpling it into a ball, he pitched it at my head. I batted it back.

"Good reflexes."

"I'm a ninja."

"Ninja looks like she needs a nap."

"I really do," I confessed. "Do you mind?"

He shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll clean up."

"Thanks." I patted him on the shoulder and it was such a familiar moment that I swear to God I almost gave him a "Night, hon," kiss on the cheek.

* * *

I tidied things up, and checked in with Mom. She was doing all right. She had plenty of questions about Kate, but I didn't say too much. I didn't want her getting any ideas.

Then I remembered my promise to Kate, and I called Faith.

She was in a mood because she was stuck riding with some kid. Thanks to me, she was quick to point out.

Great.

It was almost impossible to get anything out of Faith when she was pissed at me. She'd been ticked at me Sunday night, too. And now I had to ask her for a favor.

I told her about the homeless shelter Kate volunteered at and how concerned she was that they know she was okay and hadn't abandoned them by choice.

I asked her to let them know for me.

She shut me down. Fast and hard.

I begged, pleaded, wheedled, cajoled, enticed, coaxed, bribed… every method of persuasion in my arsenal.

Nothing.

"Faith, please."I begged.

Again, nothing.

Giving up, I added sarcastically, "At least do it for the children."

"Fine." She snapped. "I'll do it." And she hung up on me.

Who knew just being me would work.

* * *


	26. Chapter 26

Two hours and two beers later I was really lamenting the fact that Kate was holding both the TV and the bathroom hostage with her nap.

After the phone conversations with Mom and Faith, I was left for just over an hour with my own thoughts. For a while that consisted of could I peel the label off the beer intact.

Still could. There's her 'finesse'.

I wasn't a 'finesse guy'.

I didn't even know what she'd meant by that. Or whether that was good or bad to her.

Sure, I was rough around the edges.

Tough guy with a heart of gold, right?

With the exchange rate for precious metals being what it was, that wasn't too bad.

Pinching the beer cap between my thumb and middle finger, I snapped, flipping it across the room. It hit the closed bedroom door with a loud crack, and I winced, hoping she hadn't heard. I was very still for a full minute but she didn't stir.

The comment _could_ have sexual overtones, and while I was almost certain she hadn't meant it that way, could it have been a jab? No, she wasn't that mean. But maybe what I thought was a mean comment wouldn't seem mean to her.

There was this _thing_: first thing on my mind, last thing on hers. Big part of my life, no part of hers.

Maybe I was over-thinking things.

Maybe a comment was just a comment.

Either way, it was bad enough that I actually cared what she thought of me. What was worse was that I found myself wanting to change the things she didn't like. Or that I thought she didn't like.

With Faith, if I did something she didn't like, she'd just give it right back. She took me the way that I was and when I went too far she stopped me. I never really got the better of her.

But even when I got the better of Kate, it felt like it was the other way around. Her belief that I was something more than I was, sensing her disappointment in some of the things I did…it all bothered me. And she made it easy. Easy for me to be the guy I sometimes thought I ought to be. She broke through things, somehow. And apparently without even knowing it.

And here I was with her in this charade of 'protective custody'. I think the fact that it _was _false is what made me screw up. I should have been all cop. Instead, I let myself get drawn in. Being more man than cop got me into trouble. Serves me right for lying.

I needed some more time up on the roof. Alone.

* * *

I lay awake for a little while, watching the sky begin to darken, and the city lights come up. Even though the nap had been necessary, it had really been more a means of escape from Maurice. Unfortunately, the only thing worse than being _here_ was the alternative.

Where would I go? Where would they put me? The thought of having to re-establish myself as a freelance writer was exhausting. There was no way I could use any of my old pen names. Sorry, Esther. Starting all over again was a daunting prospect. I suppose it should have felt like re-birth or freedom, but it felt more like prison.

But being here was even scarier. Somehow, Maurice had me wishing for things I couldn't have and wanting more than I would ever allow. How the hell had I let that happen? With someone, in all likelihood, I'd never see again after a day or so. Right guy, wrong time? The whole thing had been a lose-lose situation from the start. It just didn't matter.

I wished I could just sleep again. These little moments of self-awareness were painful.

What was it about him that so intrigued me? That we were polar opposites?

Identity? That he'd had absolute certainty about himself, and I hadn't even had my real name? He knows exactly who he is and I only _think_ I know who I am. And I keep finding out more than I want to know or admit.

Huh. I could deal with all the tough stuff life could throw at me but I couldn't deal with the stuff I was throwing at myself.

Maybe it was because I'd been dragged out of my self-imposed isolation kicking and screaming and had to face everything I'd been telling myself I wasn't missing. Just having someone in the same room to speak actual words to was life-changing.

Maybe it was how solid, unmoving and protective he was. And decent. And thoughtful. And trying to hide it.

Maybe it was as simple as the fact that I hadn't been near a man in three years, and now I was. Good old-fashioned biology.

Or maybe it was that cosmic justice Faith had mentioned. What had I done to deserve this?

"I must have done something good." I muttered, ironically. _The Sound of Music_. If only.

I wanted to go. I wanted to stay.

I didn't want to go. I didn't want to stay.

I felt a serious mental fracture coming on.

I could not possibly spend one more second alone with my thoughts.


	27. Chapter 27

My apologies. Four hours and all I got was this. Sorry.

* * *

Kate finally emerged from the bedroom with untidy hair, an exaggerated yawn and a stretch that made me feel my pulse in my neck.

"Feel better?"  
"Mmm." She agreed lazily, dropping to the couch beside me. I realized with a frown that the wet label I'd removed from the beer bottle had dried where I'd smoothed it out on the leg of my jeans. I'm so stupid.

"That laundry you wanted to do …" I began, "…you want to do that now?" Because I only had one pair of jeans left and I needed to get rid of this pair before she noticed that I was _stupid_.

"What time is it?"

"Just after six. " I'd dropped my right hand to my thigh, covering as much of the label as I could. "Time of day affects your decision whether or not to do laundry?"

"No," she said sardonically, "but the cycles of the moon do. The week before the new moon, I'm not allowed to do any laundry at all."

"You just like to make things up, don't you?"

"That was a dumb question."  
"It was a _sarcastic _question."

"In that case, yeah, I'd better get my laundry done now because I just can't spare a _second_ of the mind-numbingly boring, dull, deadening, tedious evening I have ahead of me. I'm swamped."

"I'm not here to entertain you."  
"Cuh_-lear-_ly! You sure you can't send me home with Faith? Coloring Snoopy with her kids would be more mentally challenging."

Well, that hurt. I wasn't dumb.

Just _stupid_.

"Since we're criticizing, would you mind telling me who the hell comes to New York City and _makes their own pizza?!" _I countered.

"Are you turning into a Chicago vs. New York pizza debate?" She demanded.

"Why not." What the hell. No contest.

"Excellent." She said, and got right up in my face, pointing her finger at my nose. "Chicago. Pizza. _Sucks_." She then sat back and crossed her arms. "I like bendy- foldy pizza."

I couldn't help smiling. "Well, do you want a bendy-foldy pizza? There's a really good place just around the corner."

Kate looked back up at me and smiled. "Really?"

"Sure."

"Pizza and beer?"

"Great."

"Roof picnic?" Her optimistic smile was hard to resist.

I hesitated. The last time we'd been up there, things had gotten a little too familiar. "Sure." I agreed finally, finding no reasonable excuse not to.

"I'm not really hungry now. Are you?"

"Late lunch, late dinner." I shrugged.

"Sounds good." She rose and stretched again. "I need some water." I just nodded and watched her go to the kitchen. As soon as I heard the water running I bolted for the bedroom to change.

Stupid.

When I came back, a ball of laundry under my arm, Kate was in the kitchen drinking water, looking out the window and singing with a rather loud radio yet again.

"I'm on the highway to Hell! I'm on the highway to Hell!" She did a pretty good AC/DC screech.

"Laundry?" I suggested. She nodded, and set her water glass down with a _thunk_.

She came back with an impossibly small bundle. I'd retrieved the soap from under the sink, and gotten the quarters I'd needed from the change jar on top of the fridge.

"That's it?" I nodded at the clothes in her hands.

"I haven't worn much since I've been here."

"If only that were true."

She blushed and looked away.

"Sorry."

She sighed. "If you stopped being you I'd worry." She saw the laundry in my arms. "What are you doing with that?"

"Washing it. You apparently don't have enough there for a full load, and I need some clean stuff…" I trailed off.

"So our dead skin cells are going to mingle in an eternal wash of soapy filth?"She grimaced.

"I guess if you look at it that way. I just like to think they'll all be clean in the end."

"Okay," she shrugged,then mused in her most scandalized tone: "Does co-ed laundry lead to _dancing_?"

"God forbid." I opened the apartment door for her then led her down the hall to the laundry room.

* * *

I don't know why doing our laundry together bothered me so much. I guess it just seemed so _domestic_. Here I was, in the most extraordinary circumstances of my life, doing laundry as if we were roommates trying to conserve water.

Maurice was fussing with the buttons and frowning.

"Let me guess." I leaned my hip against the dryer. "When Mom comes over on Sundays she usually does this for you?"

"I can do it."

"But I'm right."

"Shut up."

I hopped up on the dryer and crossed my arms, waiting.

"I always use cold wash," I contributed.

"Figures." He intoned, "I'm not stupid."

"Too bad. I like stupid men." I paused. "You're no better at accepting help from people than I am." I observed.

"I'm going to stuff you in the dryer in a minute. And I won't need help for that." But his angry glare was absent.

"That would make _me_ very bendy-foldy. And melty-hot."

"How I like my women." He acknowledged.

I had only myself to blame for that one.

I didn't deserve to work with words for a living.

He finally wrested out the quarter he'd jammed in the wrong way and got the machine going.

He straightened and sighed, hands casually on his hips, he looked at me. "Ready?"

I'd been so busy studying him I hadn't even heard him speak.

"Hm?" And suddenly the room seemed too small and too stuffy.

"Ready?" he repeated testily.

"Aces." I gave him a double thumbs-up and hopped off the dryer.

He'd given Faith a call to see if she would be able to stop by for her dinner break, but it was too late. He told her to come by the next night instead.

"I'll make those Italian sandwiches with the ciabatta!" I whispered, and Maurice passed on the message, then listened while Faith responded.

"Great. It'll be the social event of the season." He said a little unenthusiastically, then flipped his cell phone shut.

"Can you make enough tomorrow for Sully and Davis too?"

"Anything for Sully!" I exclaimed. " Is Davis 'Tall Cop'?"

"Very."

"I love Sully." I confessed, with an exaggerated wistfulness.

"Everyone loves Sully."

I grabbed him by the shoulders. "There are going to be _people_ here!"I said excitedly, releasing him.

"Rah." He responded.


	28. Chapter 28

About fifteen minutes later Maurice informed me that he was going to throw everything in the dryer and would be right back.

"No. Wait. You can't." I stopped him by putting my hand on what turned out to be a rather impressive bicep. Why was I so grabby all of a sudden? I let go fast.

He waited, anticipating an explanation.

"I have, um…'foundation garments' that can't really go in the dryer."

"Okay. I won't put them in the dryer." He turned to go.

"Um."

He gestured at me with open hands. "Look, if I go, I see them. If _you_ go, I go, and I still see them. Does it really matter at this point?"

"Yes." I pressed my lips together and looked at the ceiling. "Because they're the –" I sighed quickly. "The nice ones. The ones you wear when you're in a great mood and you know it's going to be a good day. You know, like when you wear, say, _paisley_ instead of 'Hello Kitty'."

He ignored the prod and just shook his head. "Women are nuts. Fine. Come with me, I promise I won't look."

Relief.

"But you do know you just activated a very vivid imagination." He added as he ushered me out the door.

* * *

After we'd successfully leaped the laundry hurdle, one I was not anxious to revisit, we set our focus on dinner. It was close to 8, and we started talking pizza.

"Hope you don't mind eating so late." He apologized. "With my schedule, I 'm used to meals at odd hours."

"Me too. Working from home gave me an incredible flexibility with my schedule. Even when I had to go to the office, my hours were always off_. _Which is why I was buying a sandwich in a bodega at nine-thirty, which I think was _lunch_ for that day. I'm more of a night person, anyway. I love the night. Give me a sharp ,clear, starry night anytime. It's renewing. Refreshing. An open sky is a substitute for all the other freedoms I don't have."

"All right. You've made your point. Looks like we're having a 'roof picnic'." He grimaced.

"Look, don't go crazy like you did with all the Chinese food."

"If I have a small order they won't deliver."

"So go get it. You said it was just around the corner."

"I guess I could. "

We haggled over the pizza; me telling him to get what he wanted, and him telling me to get what I wanted. Since I could live on all the variations pizza has to offer, I was trying to be polite. Turns out we both wanted the same thing: the one with all the meats.

There was a six-pack of Rolling Rock shoved in the far back corner of the bottom shelf of the fridge, and he pulled an extra blanket out of the closet. He put them on the table.

"Listen, I don't want you going up there while I'm gone. Wait for me to get back."

"Okay." I agreed, knowing I'd do the exact opposite.

He sighed, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. "Could you at least wait until I've been gone fifteen minutes or so, so you're not up there alone too long?"

"I promise."

He rubbed his right temple. "I guess if you stopped being you, I'd worry."


	29. Chapter 29

They were the longest fifteen minutes of my life. But I counted down to the last second, because I'd promised. When time was up, I bolted, slamming the apartment door and racing to the top of the stairs. I blasted out the door at the top into the night. The door swung closed behind me, cutting off the light from the stairwell, but I didn't need it because we were only a night or two away from a full moon.

I spread the blanket out neatly, setting the six-pack on one corner. I took out a beer and opened it, replacing it in the carry-case with my Tabasco. Sitting on the blanket, below the level of the parapet blocked some of the city light so I could see more stars that way.

I lay back, arms behind my head and breathed deep, savoring the moment. I felt a little guilty about the manipulation routine I'd used to get up here, but Maurice was a big boy. He'd known exactly what I was doing and I had no doubt that if he didn't want to be here, we wouldn't be here. Sure, he was humoring me, but I would take what I could get.

Minutes later, he was back, and I groaned in annoyance because my time had been so short. He walked up to the blanket, and released the pizza from waist-height. It hit the rooftop flat with a loud crack that made me jump.

"With all the meat on that thing, I'm pretty sure that could be called animal abuse. I ought to call the cops on you."

"You'd never make it to the door."

"What would you do, throw me over the edge?"

"The front's a clean drop, but the back, here," he gestured, " has another rooftop a couple of stories down. You'd suffer."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" I opened a second beer and held it out to him. He took it and wandered over to the back of the building and leaned over, looking down.

"You know," I mused, as if to myself, "one well-placed two-handed shove between the shoulder blades…" When he looked back at me, I was gazing innocently up at the stars.

"Are you threatening an officer of the law?" He ambled back over.

"Nooo. Not me. No, sir, no way. If I were to do _that_, I surely wouldn't waste it on a puny little shove off a building. It would have to be something more spectacular and especially deserving of the particular officer in question."

"Such as?" He sat cross-legged across from me, the pizza between us.

"Something that would make the face-melting scene at the end of _Raiders_ seem merciful."

"To The Pain." He reminded me.

"Ooh. That's _good._"

"Before it gets cold." He nodded at the box, opened it and handed me a delightfully saggy slice. I had to fight with it to fold it the right way, and during the battle a piece of meatball fell on my knee. I flicked it away. Damn. That was one of the best parts.

"MMmmmmmmm!" I

" 'You just made a yummy sound'." Maurice pointed out through a bite of pizza.

"_Young Frankenstein. _Classic! I'd love to see that again."

"There are roughly one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three video rental stores in the tri-county area. I could see if I could find it."

"You'd do that?" I didn't really think he would.

"If you asked me to," he said offhandedly, looking for napkins that weren't there.

I stopped chewing and just swallowed a big lump of pizza. So many thoughts ran through my mind at once that I didn't even know which one to consider first. I felt like a middle school girl whose totally oblivious crush just held the door for her. I sat staring and silent for so long that he actually waved his hand in front of my face.

"Are you in there?"

I snapped back to it. "Um, no, that's okay. TV is fine. Whatever's on."

"Yeah, but what if it's something like 'Bridges of Madison County'?" he scowled.

"I will be reduced to a small pool of tears." I confessed. "But it would still be Clint Eastwood. Oh!" I exclaimed "I forgot!" I set my half-slice down on the top of the box, and pulled out the Tabasco sauce.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," I said, opening the bottle and shaking it on.

"Tabasco on pizza." His face was priceless. "You're _kid_ding, _right_?" He repeated.

"People put red pepper flakes on pizza. What's the difference?"

"I don't know," he said, with misgivings, "but I know there _is _one."

I just took a big bite and smiled.

"I am so going to miss this." I said of the pizza. "I'm going to miss all of New York. This was home to me in a way Chicago never was."

He looked at me for a second then threw his half-eaten slice on the top of the box and rubbed his hands together to dissipate the grease.

"Not hungry?"

"Not anymore."

"It was the Tabasco, wasn't it? I'm sorry."

"Yeah. " He stood and went over to the front of the building, gazing down at the street. I could see that it was getting windy. I threw my pizza crust down and joined him. He finished off his beer and placed the bottle on the parapet.

"What will you do?" He asked, very quietly. I could barely hear him above the noise from the street.

I held onto the parapet and leaned back, stretching my arms. The wind was making my red hooded sweatshirt feel very inadequate.

"I've been contemplating a life of crime. Maybe change my name to 'Miss Amber' and do fraudulent palm readings, séances..."

" 'Miss Amber' sounds like a stripper name. You need something like 'Madame Amber'."

"Prostitute." I countered. He nodded grimly.

I leaned forward on my elbows. "NYC. Nothing like it. I was in sushi place last week that still had Christmas music on a loop. In April. _The Little Drummer Boy, _in Musak." I shook my head. "And there was this lady on the train a while ago, with her four year old son. He was sitting at her feet, taking his sippy cup out of her purse and he starts pulling things out, and he has this eyelash curler in his hands! Who carries an eyelash curler on the train?! How is that essential?"

"You can't put Tabasco on sushi." He commented.

"_Wasabi_, baby."

"Gotcha." He was awfully subdued. Distant. His mood had changed so abruptly. I wondered what I'd done to precipitate that.

"The first time I had wasabi, I thought it was like guacamole." I confessed.

He looked at me in horror. "You didn't."

"I _did_." I nodded. "I thought I was going to pass out. I actually went blind for a minute. The whole world closed in. I practice more moderate consumption now."

He'd actually looked at me, and expressed a little emotion, even thought it was horror. I could pull him back in.

"So, what made you become a cop? You seem like you might have been a little bit of a J.D."

"No more than anyone else."

"Yeah, me too." I said.

"You were a juvenile delinquent." Ah, skepticism. Good. "What'd you do: take more sugar packets than you needed at the Dunkin'?"

"I did some things. Skipped school…" I offered.

"Please. Nice try."

I waited for a minute, then tried again.

"You said the other day that it was a deliberate path."

Maurice glanced at me, then back out over the city. "It was a lot of things."

"Any one overarching thing?"

"I just _said_ it was a _lot_ of things."

"When I say 'cop', what comes to mind?" I prodded.

He turned toward me and for a minute I really thought he was going to tell me to shut up, but he actually paused and thought before he spoke.

"When I was about eight, maybe ten, I went to a game with my old man. Bleacher seats. There was this big Irish beat cop watching the section, spending _more_ time watching the game. One of his buddies comes up and they start laughing and joking , just like anybody else. They even do this little dance to the organ music between pitches, right? And at one point he glances up, and it feels like he's looking right at me. I'm maybe ten rows up, and I get this feeling in my gut, wondering what I did. His eyes narrowed and all the fun went out of his face. He had this menacing look, and he was shaking his head 'no'. And it turns out it was this guy maybe four rows behind me, but I felt cold. Cold and scared, because I thought it was me. Then he looks back at his buddy and the smile comes back, and they're fooling around again. And I loved how he could just turn it on and off like that. Then all of a sudden, he turns and looks right back and bellows "Are you _kidding _me? Right in _front_ of me?" And I realize he's looking beyond me at this college kid who blazed up right there in front of a cop." He paused. "And this is the best part. He doesn't even hike up the stairs to get the kid. He just stands there and says "Get down here, _now_." And the kid does. And his girlfriend follows him. I thought having that kind of authority was so cool. That he could not only take in the criminals, but people too _stupid_ for their own good."


	30. Chapter 30

(I guess I never made this clear: this is taking place April 2003. Just sayin'. So the date math doesn't preoccupy reading time.)

* * *

Two beers later, we were lying shoulder to shoulder on the blanket, and he was pointing out a couple of lesser known constellations I pretended I could see. I liked how he pointed casually at the stars with two fingers. When he was ticked at me he always had that one rigid pointer finger furiously in my face.

We lay in silence for a while, and I though back over the previous three years. They were just week after week after week, indistinguishable from one another. Except for these last few days there was only one other event that stood out from everything else.

"I still can't believe they're gone." I murmured.

"Hm?"

"The towers. All those people."

"Mm."

"I'd been here about a year and a half. Never got down there, never went to the top. Like the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, I always thought I could do it another day…." I trailed off.

"Did you lose anyone that day?" I looked over at him.

"No one close. You?"

"No one to lose."

"Hm."

"Well, there was this one girl at work who didn't come in that day. We found out two weeks later that she'd seen the news, locked the door, pulled down the shades and went back to bed. She just cracked. Her landlord found her dehydrated and malnourished. It took her a year to get back to being a functional human being. I was going to say 'back to normal', but none of us will ever be 'normal' again. I was numb for a long time. I don't ever want to feel the way I felt that day – that week - _ever_ again."

"No one does."

"I never shut the TV off. I always had it on one of the news networks, even if I was asleep. Expecting something else to happen. I just stopped about three months ago. I realized I was being a crazy person."

"Nothing crazy about that. I bet a lot of people did the same thing."

We were silent for a moment then he spoke up.

"I had all these pictures, and I threw them out."  
"Pictures?" I looked over at him quizzically.

"Of the towers. I went on a school field trip in like eighth grade, and Ma gave me her instamatic camera, a 110, remember those?"

"Those were a little before my time."

"Anyway,I took a couple of Battery Park, distance shots of Ellis Island and Lady Liberty, but I saved most of them for the towers. I took pictures of Tobin plaza, of the façade of the buildings, and a couple from street level looking up at the top. I had some from the observation deck, and some from inside behind the glass at the _Top of the World _display." He sighed. "About three months before it happened, I was going through things, throwing things out and I found these pictures. And they were so childish. Got my finger in one picture, the glare of the flash on the window ... And the ones of the façade and looking up at the towers, I said 'there are so many professional photos of the same thing, who needs these?' And I threw them out. The only one I kept is from _Top of the World_ looking down on Liberty Street, because I liked the rooftops and tiny taxi cabs. They were bad, but they were _mine_."

Maurice looked over at me, "That's why I wanted to make sure you had that shoebox."

"Thank you," was all I could manage, and barely at that.

After about a minute I sniffed little and said "I have something in my eye."

He laughed.

* * *

Kate sighed. "Do you ever wonder how things would be if they were different?"

"I imagine they'd be……_different_." Shut up. No wonder people don't like you.

"No," She moved restlessly, then sat up, cross-legged. "I mean _Terminator_ different. Like if you had a chance to change things. Not everything, but maybe just an important detail. Like on Friday night I go into the bodega, but 20 minutes earlier and I miss Juan and Bobby completely."

"Then you wouldn't be here."

"Right. But would I still have met you and Faith, only under other circumstances?"

"You mean like at a _nightclub_?"

"Oh." She thought about that for a minute. "Wow. Yeah. You rescued me twice."

"I wouldn't say 'rescued'. The first time I just told a guy to get the hell out, and the second time I thought you _were _a guy."

"Good times." She smiled, I imagine at the memory of having ripped me to shreds at the house.

"Coulda been three." I reminded her.

She frowned. "Three."

"That guy was waiting for you in the alley."

"You saw that?"

"The dumbass with the stealth cigarette giving him away? Yah. I knew you weren't going to take the cab. Just like I knew you had no intention of waiting for me to get home tonight before coming up here. You're pretty easy to read."

"Yeah, well, I've always been a 'what you see is what you get' kinda girl. No surprises. And I'm a terrible liar."

"Are you kidding? You surprise me every minute of every day. But you _are _a terrible liar."

She nodded and picked up her Tabasco bottle, looking lost in thought.

"Anyway, if you're asking me if circumstances make things different, I don't really know. People are people. Faith is Faith. I'm still me. You're still you. How could time or place make a difference?"

Kate looked at me for a long minute, then shrugged, nodded and looked back up at the stars, unexpectedly exposing her throat, reminding me just how vulnerable she actually was.

Vulnerable. But definitely not weak.


	31. Chapter 31

"You're cold."

I was.

"I'm fine." I replied, getting to my feet with a groan. Atrophy.

How long had we been here?

What time was it?

I went back to the front of the building with all the lights and sounds and life. I went to the parapet and the strong wind almost blew me back. I grabbed on, locked my elbows and leaned into it. "You're going to freeze." He was right.

I wanted to freeze.

"I want to feel it." I said, more to myself than anything.

"The cold?"

"Everything." I wanted to feel everything. I'd been in a cocoon for three years. Talk about atrophy. Yevgeny Yevtushenko wrote a novel titled _Don't Die Before You're Dead_. I'd done exactly that. Even 9/11 hadn't brought me back to life; it had just made me more numb. I wanted to feel alive again.

That girl from the office I'd told Maurice about…if that had been _me_, no one would even have noticed I wasn't there. I'd worked from home a lot, but even when I _was_ there, I wasn't the most sociable creature. And even though I loved my work and didn't mind being alone, what kind of life was that?

I was living like a widow, but I was mourning myself.

All the things Evan had taken from me could have been summed up in that one night, but I'd let it corrupt three years.

Three _years_.

That made me mad.

I thought.

I fumed.

I thought.

I paced.

"Are you all right?" He'd been sitting motionless, following me with his eyes but now he stood.

"Back off!" I told him, even though he was fifteen feet away. I stripped off my sweatshirt and dropped it off the building, watching it swirl and sail down, my last link to Chicago now gone.

That mental fracture I mentioned?

Happening.

" You OK? Is there something I can -?" he began. Still trying.

"Can you give me back three years of my life? 'Cause that's what I need." I snapped.

He ran his hand across his mouth and stayed silent.

Smart boy.

"It wasn't him." I said. He stood, hands in his pockets, hunched against the wind.

"It wasn't _him_, it was _me_!" He nodded slightly.

"He didn't take three years from me, _I _did! _I _did, with my solitude and my work!" I ranted. "Do you know I don't remember seeing a tree bloom in three years? One day there's nothing. All of a sudden it's in full bloom. I don't even notice the _process _anymore! And this stupid," I picked up the Tabasco sauce and hefted it in my hand, "_stupid _Tabasco therapy!" I hurled the bottle at the door to the stairwell and it shattered dead center.

"High heat."

He'd made a joke.

I turned on him, incredulous. He almost took a step back, unsure of my response.

How could he disarm me so easily?

"_High_ heat? That was _below_ chest level! That was a strike! How do you _do_ this to me?" I demanded, actually stamping my foot.

"Do what?" He kept his tone low and calm, like a hostage negotiator.

"I'm in a rage, having a crisis and you make me laugh."

He shrugged. "You OK?" He asked, with the start of a smile.

"No." I ran my hands through my hair. "But I'm going to be." I added, rubbing my left arm.

"You're turning blue." He flicked the blanket to rid it of debris and came over and wrapped it around me.

"Thanks." I mumbled, pulling it tight.

* * *

I lifted her chin and looked in her eyes to make sure she was telling the truth. I was way too close and the sudden need to kiss her was overwhelming. I had every intention of doing it, too, but when I was about an inch and a half away I realized that it would have to be on _her_ terms, not mine. I couldn't just take what I wanted, not from her. I dropped my arm and backed a couple of steps away.

And she looked at me like I was a goddamned hero.

She knew why.

That's when the downpour started.

Kate screamed and we ran for the door to the stairs, leaving everything on the roof in the icy April rain.

* * *

It was only later, after we'd dried off and Kate was tucked safely away in bed, when I splashed my face with water and glared at myself in the bathroom mirror, that the thought finally occurred to me.

With my hand, I wiped away the water from my face.

She hadn't done a damn thing to stop me.


	32. Chapter 32

The clock on the bedside table said nearly eleven, and it was still raining. Maurice had left the bedroom door open and I could hear him messing with the coffee maker. Apparently he'd just gotten up as well. I groaned to myself. It had been close to two when we'd come down from the roof, and my night had been unrestful and dream-laden. I was so very tired.

I heard him pause at the door for a moment before entering the room to get clothes for his shower. I feigned sleep. I wasn't ready to face him yet.

Once he was locked in the bathroom, I sat up and rubbed my face, smoothed my hair. Last night had been awkward. We'd pretty much just separated, dried off, changed and stayed in opposite corners of the apartment with barely a mumbled 'good night'.

He'd almost kissed me.

What was scary was how much I'd wanted it. When he'd stopped, I'd instantly known why.

If his behavior was so considerate and thoughtful, how was his kiss? That thought had made me come so very close to closing the gap myself. But I'd been paralyzed.

First he'd kicked open the door labeled 'trust', and now he'd eased open the one marked 'desire'.

How do I get _that _genie back in the bottle?

Dear God, he had me mixing metaphors.

And I'd wanted to feel life. Well, honey, here it is.

I got out of bed and stretched, then re-adjusted my black cami and re-tied my flannel pajama pants with the yellow duckies on them.

I needed an intravenous espresso drip, but coffee would have to do.

I heard Maurice shut off the shower.

Quickly, I padded out to the kitchen barefoot and poured two cups of coffee, brought them back to the couch and settled into my corner, knees up, resting my coffee cup on them.

"Hey." He was in the bedroom doorway.

"Hey," I replied, barely looking at him, and gesturing at the coffee I'd poured for him.

"Thanks." He dropped to the couch with an exhausted groan. And, just like him, he went right for the elephant in the room. "About last night, I-"

I cut him off with a gesture, waving the issue away. "Nothing to discuss."

Avoidance much?

He kept his eyes on me, brooding silently, while I looked everywhere else in the room but at him.

"It was just - " he exhaled. " -force of habit. It won't happen again, and I'm sorry."

" 'Force of habit'." I repeated, looking sharply at him.

"Yeah." he nodded. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." Yeah. Next time make sure you do it right the first time.

I rose and went back to the kitchen for a refill.

That went well, I thought wryly. Crap. Things had been going all right. How do we get back to where we were before?

When I came back, he was standing, inspecting the room. He spread his arms. "So, this room next?"

_That's_ how.

I grinned.

"Taupe." I said.

* * *

We were at the table picking at our lunches. I'd made chicken Caesar salad, and he'd grumbled about wanting cold pizza, but it had been drowned on the roof overnight.

I complained about being tired.

"What. You slept like a stone." He asserted.

"I didn't. I kept having weird dreams. And how do _you_ know?"

"I forgot to shut the door. You didn't move."

" I tossed and turned all night!"

"Nah, that was me."

"Are we really arguing about this?"

"I'm just sayin'."

"Well, _stop_ sayin'. I had a dream that I was in the ocean, near this lighthouse."

"Lighthouse." He repeated.

"Yeah. The waves were choppy and I thought I was drowning, but I don't think I was. You were there."

"I was _where_?"

"At the lighthouse."

He dropped his fork, and sat back. "Oh, don't drag _me_ into your Daddy issues."

" '_Daddy issues'_?" I repeated.

"_Lighthouse?_ Symbolism 101! You got a phallic symbol, Daddy issues are running _right_ behind."

"I don't think that's it." I argued. "What could a lighthouse stand for?"

"I just told you."

"No. If it's a Daddy issue, why were _you _there?"

"Dad's an authority figure. I'm a cop: authority figure." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Either that or you're preoccupied with something else." That smirk again.

"It's got to be that authority thing." I grumbled. "A lighthouse is a constant. Ever-present. Always watching. Unmoving, like you." Stubborn, I meant.

"It moves." He pointed out.

"What?"

"The light. It moves."

I nodded. "You're right. It's a beacon, a guide."

"But it's _not _constant." He argued. "There are moments of light and darkness. It guides ships _in the ocean_. Which is where _you _were."

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. With him.

"The ocean isn't constant, either. It's constantly _changing._ Always moving. Violent."

"Chaotic. Dangerous. Like life. So you've got stability, safety and consistency with the lighthouse. Change and impermanence with the ocean. Sounds like a perfect metaphor for what's going on in your life right now."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"Yeah. Sure. I'm the lighthouse. Everything else out there is the ocean." He seemed satisfied with that, so I just smiled and cleared the table, going to do the dishes.

I didn't mention that lighthouse, by their very nature, were inaccessible. Unattainable. Surrounded by deadly rocks. Designed to warn you off.

And that the ocean could mean freedom. Exploration. He mentioned change.

Change could be bad _or_ good.


	33. Chapter 33

Kate was pensive, thoughtful, quiet.

She wasn't even singing.

I didn't like that.

She'd separated herself from me for several hours, now. First she'd taken an extraordinarily long shower and spent much longer than her customary five minutes on her appearance. Then she had thrown both her suitcases on the bed and gone through them, folding and re-folding, repacking. Even though I had been lying there watching TV she hadn't said a word. I was pretty certain I hadn't done anything to offend her, but who the hell knew with her.

I had watched her face, furtively, while she was going through her things. Her expression had been set somewhere between dead-serious and full-frown. I'd guessed she was working through something and decided to just let her be.

I hated the silence. Even the television didn't fill the void. Sure, it was a gray day outside, rain showers off and on, but her mood made it seem darker and drearier. I had to resist the urge to go around the apartment and turn all the lights on. I felt abandoned.

Kate was in the kitchen preoccupied with food preparation, even though she was just making those sandwiches and dinner was a few hours away. I could hear her agitated chopping, accompanied by the occasional exclamation of frustration. She had the radio on way too loud, and I'd heard her open the window over the sink again. Her escape.

No way was I going out there.

I didn't like her like this.

I could surprise her out of her anger, but when she was like this anything I tried to do just seemed to make things worse.

Lifehouse. _Hanging By A Moment_. This one was catchy, maybe – nope. About twenty seconds into it I could hear her throw the knife to the counter with a clatter. She was clearly vexed and it bothered me that something was bothering her. Why I felt the need to go out there is beyond me. A guy thing – the desire to fix what's not right. To put things the way they ought to be.

I closed my eyes tight and willed myself to stay where I was. No good thing could come of going out there.

* * *

_Hanging By A Moment_. Last song in the world I needed to hear right now. I threw the knife on the counter in complete torment.

It was as if the entire universe was conspiring to put me face to face with things I only wanted to push to the side and ignore. Or pretend didn't exist.

Maurice was the most obnoxious, stubborn, frustrating, absolute _plague_ of a human being I'd ever met.

And I was absolutely crazy about him.

There couldn't have been a more _wrong_ time for this. Three weeks ago, hell, three _years _ago, would have been better timing, but I wouldn't have been receptive. Now, I wanted to be but couldn't. I wished I'd never gone to the store that night. I wished I'd kept my mouth shut and gotten released from the police station. I wished I'd told them to call the FBI right away. All these things I could have done or not done and I wouldn't be in this situation.

My own actions had put me here.

My _in_action had put me here.

"Anything I can do?" His voice made me jump.

I spun around, backed up against the counter. He hovered in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"Um-the knife, the basil-" I began, gesturing over my shoulder with my thumb.

"Is something wrong?"

Only everything.

I tried to keep my tone even. "I'm having a hard time chopping the basil. The knife isn't as sharp as I'm used to. Ideally, I would need a food processor or a blender, but…"I trailed off

"Sorry." He said genuinely, looking like he'd failed me.

"Well, it's not like it will ruin everything." I said hastily. "It's a basil pesto mayonnaise. The fact that I can't grind the basil to bits probably really won't matter in the greater scheme of things. It's all about the flavor." I shrugged. Of course I liked things to be the way they were supposed to be, but this wasn't worth making him feel bad.

He nodded. "You ready to play hostess?"

_Hostess?_

The thought had never occurred to me.

"It's your apartment."

"You're the cook."

"They're _your_ friends. I don't really know these people."

"Guess you're going to." He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "And 'friends' is a stretch."

It occurred to me that he was as socially adrift as I was. Mom, sure. Faith, sure. But not a whole lot else. At least not anything that went too far below the surface, from what I could surmise.

That made me sad.

I needed to kick myself out of this mood I was in for his sake. Otherwise we might have a pretty dismal evening.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then looked back at him, pasting a broad smile on my face.

Life is short.

Embrace it.

Don't die before you're dead. And you could be dead in two minutes for all you know.

"You can help with the sandwiches if you want." I suggested.

And just like that, I was all in.


	34. Chapter 34

Faith was a little early.

Kate was assembling the sandwiches and I'd just about finished setting the table.

"How are things going?" Faith asked in a low voice.

"Okay."

"Make any progress?"

Considerable. Just not in the way she meant. I hesitated.

"You _are _making an attempt to get her to talk to the FBI."

"Constantly. Morning, noon and night." I hadn't mentioned it in days.

She seemed satisfied with that.

Kate came out with a platter of sandwiches and set them on the table, smiling at Faith.

Water glasses. We'd be needing those.

* * *

Maurice went to the kitchen and Faith drew me aside.

"How are you doing?"

I shrugged. "I'm OK."

"How's the whole love/hate thing going?"

"Well, we seem to have eased up a little bit on the 'hate' part." I laughed.

"Don't worry. It'll be back. It's a natural resource for him."

Thank God I wasn't drinking anything – it would have come out my nose.

"His chief export." I added and we both cracked up.

"So, he's been hammering you about going to the FBI." Faith stated, completely switching gears on me.

"Actually, he's been pretty decent about leaving me alone with my decision."

I could tell from her expression that was the wrong answer.

"You _do _know what you have to do."

Yeah, I knew, I just didn't want to think about it.

I nodded. "I suppose it's time to get the ball rolling on that." I said grudgingly, knowing that's what she expected.

"I'll contact them."

"How long will it take?" I asked.

"Couple of days, maybe."

Days.

"Okay." I agreed, not liking it at all. But doing the right thing was never the easy thing.

I felt like I'd stepped off a cliff.

* * *

Kate and Faith were chatting amiably over by the fireplace, Kate filling her in on our painting adventure in the bedroom. She was managing to tell it without making me sound like too much of an idiot.

Someone pounded on the door with a closed fist. Police officers can't knock like normal people.

Sully and Davis. I hadn't even had a chance to ask Faith what she'd told them.

Davis didn't even say hello, he just looked beyond me right at Kate.

"Damn, Bosco, you've outdone yourself."

"I haven't done anything." I muttered. They were making assumptions about her because of who I was.

"Glad to see you're still using crime victims as your own personal dating pool." Sully added. I stepped back and let them in, slamming the door. So far, this was great.

Kate chose that moment to tell Faith brightly, "So, basically, we spent the last two days in the bedroom."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose until it hurt.

Davis nudged me. "You dog," he said, never taking his eyes off her. Sully used _his_ eyes to try to bore a hole in my forehead.

"It's not like that." I insisted glumly.

"Right." Sully rasped.

I got right up in his face. "It's. Not. Like. That." All the times I had bragged about women, and now here I was trying to defend Kate's honor. I needed to look in the mirror to make sure it was me.

"He says it's not like that." Davis pointed out. Brilliant.

"That's a good thing. Romeo and Juliet had a better chance than these two." Sully groused.

"Doomed from the start," Davis added, "Like Antony and Cleopatra."

"Heathcliff and Catherine." Sully countered.

"Hamlet and Ophelia."

"Enough." I said sharply. "I get it."

"Lancelot and Guinevere." Sully threw in, just to let me know I wasn't the boss of him.

"Stop staring." I demanded of Davis.

"If it's 'not like that', then you don't mind if I…" He gestured toward Kate. He'd actually taken his eyes off her for a fraction of a second to look at me.

He was going to hit on her?

"Be my guest. This'll be good."

He clapped me on the shoulder and crossed the room, and Faith came over to greet Sully, who smiled for the first time since he'd gotten here.

I glanced back at Kate. She was smiling up at Davis and had her hand on his arm. It was a little too intimate to suit me. She said something softly, patted him on the arm and headed into the kitchen.

Davis ambled back over to us, hitching up his pants a little bit. Arms crossed, I frowned at him expectantly.

"She shot me down and made me like it."

I'd known she would, but I was still relieved.

"She seems to be a lot more comfortable here," Faith observed.

"Stockholm Syndrome." Sully growled.

I'd had about enough, so I followed Kate into the kitchen, where she was preparing the salad.

Standing next to her, arms crossed, I glared back out at Davis, whose attention was unbelievably still on her.

"That Ty is a real heartbreaker, huh?" she said.

I looked at her piercingly. "What, you _like_ him?"

"What's not to like?" Kate shrugged, and gave him a long look over her shoulder. Fortunately, he was talking to Faith and didn't see her do it.

"You just checked him out!" I said in disbelief.

"Somebody's got to. A guy like that just demands attention."

I couldn't tell if she was messing with me or not.

"I think he's younger than _you_."

"Koo Koo ka-_choo,_ Mrs. Robinson!" she exclaimed, glancing back at him.

"You know," she added conspiratorially, "I never really understood that whole thing about a man in uniform, but I sure as hell do _now_. Makes all _kinds_ of sense now." She added dressing and tossed the salad nonchalantly.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Jealous?" She _was_ teasing. I exhaled.

"No. He'll be out of here in forty-five minutes and I can see to it that he never comes back."

Her look said, "We'll see about that." Like I'd given her a dare. She gave me an impossibly sweet smile and carried the salad out to the table.

She introduced what she called her 'Antipasto Sandwiches', which everyone enjoyed. She chattered luminously with everyone, and I could tell they were all falling in love with her, too.

When everyone was done, she hopped up to start clearing everything and I started to get up to help her but she pressed down on my shoulders and whispered, "I'll take care of it. Talk with your friends." Faith got up to help her.

Kate prepared the coffeemaker for brewing and the three of us sat there in silence watching her.

"Yeah, it's a good thing it's 'not like that'." Davis stated, baiting me. I gave him a stone-faced stare. He continued. "A woman like that needs romance, and that is definitely not your strong suit. Your idea of a love song is like, what – _Roxanne_?"

"Don't be so hard on him, Davis," Sully spoke up. "I'm sure he appreciates the romantic subtlety of, say, classic Aerosmith."

"You have _no idea_ what she needs." I snapped at Davis. Why was I letting him get to me?

"Ah, neither do you." Sully grumbled. "She's miles above you, man."

I knew that. I glanced back at Kate. She and Faith were animatedly discussing something and working together on the dishes.

"She brings a……………_clarity_ to things." Sully continued.

"Clarity." I repeated, and the word felt right.

"Sure. Like everything's black and white. The shades of gray disappear."

I thought about that.

I thought he was right.

I'm with her four days.

He gets this insight in forty minutes.

"What?" Sully demanded irritably. I'd been staring right through him.

"Just thinking."

* * *

Faith came back out of the kitchen with cream, sugar, napkins and spoons, and Kate followed her with four mugs of coffee. She placed them in front of us then dropped herself next to me, across from Sully, with a huge sigh.

"No coffee?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I'm too tired for coffee."

"That's what the coffee's for." He pointed out.

"I've got to catch up on my sleep. Maurice and I are going to start painting out here tomorrow."

"Painting?" Davis piped up. "The walls?" He looked at me and mouthed "Maurice?" with an arch of his eyebrow.

Kate nodded. "And especially the fireplace. A nice coat of glossy paint."

Faith looked at me, barely containing a grin, "Fireplace? You gonna get a fire started in here tonight?"

Kate was engaging in cross-talk with Davis, so she hadn't heard that.

"You're piling on, too?" I complained. "These two have been on my back since they got here."

"If you don't think you can get things going Davis'll definitely give it a shot." Sully intoned, and Faith snorted laughter.

"What?" Davis asked.

"Nothing." I said decisively.

Kate sat back, arms crossed with a big smile on her face, like she'd beaten me at something. What had I missed?

* * *

Once again, Kate started clearing things from the table, while they all got ready to leave.

Davis had his hands on his hips and was surveying the room.

"What _color _are we doing in here?" he asked.

"Taupe!" Kate yelled from the kitchen.

"She's thinking taupe," I grinned at Faith.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She pulled me by my arm into the bedroom.

"What do you think you can _keep_ her? Play _house_?" She demanded. "She has a _life_. And she has to get back to it. I know you've got this thing for her because you can't have her, but you need to get over it and move on."

"It's well beyond that." I massaged my forehead with the palm of my hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Look. I have no delusions, here. I know what I am. I know what I'm not. She makes me want to fix some of the broken things. She makes me want to be that guy."  
"_What _guy?"

"The one who deserves her."

Faith pursed her lips and gave me one of her looks. "I can't help you with this. All I can tell you is that evidently she does _not_ feel the same way, and you knew the outcome of this from the very beginning. You dug the hole you're in. Climb out."

She was right and that irritated me to no end.

"I've gotta go," she said tersely and brushed past me. She stopped briefly to say goodbye to Kate, who was talking to Sully and Davis, then slammed the door behind her, neglecting to give me a bit of information that probably - no, _definitely_ - would have changed the whole landscape of the evening.

I emerged from the bedroom, frowning. Sully directed a nod at me, and said goodbye to Kate. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him what looked to be a very constricting hug. He stepped back and came over to me, smacking me on the shoulder.

"I had a nice time. She's great."

I nodded in agreement.

He leaned in and growled, "You do anything – _anything_- to hurt her and I will make sure I hurt _you_. Bad."

"I would never."

"Hmf." He scoffed, and lumbered toward the door, catching Davis in the arm "Let's go."

Davis was reluctant to leave, so I helped him a little.

"Good_ night_." I stressed, giving him a little shove out into the hallway.

He looked over me at Kate. "See you tomorrow, then."

What?

I scowled at him.

"I'll make breakfast." Kate chirped. My frown deepened. What had she done?

Davis's eyes flicked to my face, and he started to smile a little. I shook my head at him and said "No." very quietly, very seriously.

"Nine o'clock okay?"

"Perfect."

"No," I said again, giving him my most fierce face.

"See you tomorrow morning. _Maurice_." He smiled and sauntered down the hall, whistling.

I closed and locked the door. Turned to face her.

"_What_ did you do?"

"I asked him to help us paint."

"You _what_?" This was what her smile had been all about. I'd given her a challenge. Damn.

She shrugged. "He's got experience, and I need someone a little more – well, a little _less _catastrophic."

Catastrophic. This was turning out to be a fantastic night.

I was in one hell of a mood.


	35. Chapter 35

You think you know yourself. What makes you tick. What doesn't. And then somebody goes and points out something so obvious it ought to be stamped on your forehead. And you have to rethink everything.

* * *

I was cranky enough over the abuse I'd taken all night, but this thing with Davis was just the last straw. I knew she didn't mean anything by it; it was just an innocent part of the game we played with each other. But after everything else, especially Faith, it set me off. I should have taken the walk to cool off _before _I opened my mouth. I shouldn't have taken it all out on her. And it was probably something I should have just let her figure out for herself instead of throwing it in her face.

But she'd had to make one more comment about Davis.

* * *

I had just finished washing out the last of the coffee mugs, rinsed it and set it aside. Radio on, kitchen window open as usual.

Maurice was in a mood. I'd thought the evening had gone well, so I wasn't sure what his problem was, but there definitely was one.

At that point he shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, peering inside.

"No beer. Figures." He slammed the door shut.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Well, I had a really nice time today. They're all so great. Faith is fantastic. Sully's wonderful, and Ty is just – " I searched for the words. "The nicest guy I've met in a long time. A gentleman."

"Yeah. He's a real nice guy. He'd love your whole Sister Mary Catherine thing."

"Oh, so we're back to that." I said. That statement, and his sarcastic tone really pushed my buttons. "I'm really tired of the comments. It's a personal preference. You go do your thing, I go do mine, okay? I haven't judged you, so don't you _dare_ judge me. I don't even know why the hell it bugs you so damn much!" I threw the dishtowel on the counter, and pushed past him roughly out into the living room.

He said quietly, "Because you're not being honest about it."

I stopped short. "Ex_cuse_ me?" I whirled around.

"You're not being honest about it." He repeated, walking toward me slowly, hands in his pockets, body tense.

He had a look on his face almost like he _wanted _to be provoked, so I kept my mouth shut and waited for it.

"You call this a 'personal preference'?" His voice was low, even and tight. "Well, maybe it _was_. When you first settled on it. But I'm pretty damn sure this whole 'off limits' thing has _every_thing to do with what that guy did to you three years ago."

I took a step back and he stepped right up into my personal space anyway, with that finger pointing in my face.

"This isn't about hands off your body; it's about hands off everything else. You're using it as an excuse not to let anyone in. You're afraid to get close _here_." He jabbed his finger just below my left collar bone. I wanted to step back again, but I refused to give any more ground.

"_That's _what _'bugs' _me." Now, he was just angry.

"That's not true." I whispered, wishing I was right.

"Oh," he said, adjusting his expression to mockingly look as though he believed me. "Fine. Show me one person in this city in the last three years who knows more about you than how you like your coffee."

"Apparently, that would be _you._" He was absolutely, undeniably right, and I didn't know where that left me. It made me wonder why he'd chosen this time, and this manner to reveal to me something that hadn't even occurred to me. Why it felt like a personal attack.

I hadn't seen _this _guy since Friday night.

"Then you're screwed. Because you already let me in."

"Honey, you just let yourself _out_." I shoved him out of my way and went back into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and draining it quickly. I wanted to hurl the empty glass at the wall, but _words _were _my _thing. I set the glass on the counter and faced him.

"You just told me that I use sex as an excuse not to let anyone in."

"Surprised?"

"You do the same thing."

He got a little wary. Didn't say anything.

"You just use the 'hands-on' approach." I noted. Oh, yes, this was going to turn quickly. He frowned a little bit, not sure where I was going with this.

"I want you to stop me when I'm _wrong_, 'Cool Hand Luke'. ..Let's see: the only woman you can risk loving is Mom and she breaks your heart." I paused. He said nothing.

"The only woman you can trust with your whole self – the good, the bad, the ugly – is your partner. She's the mother that _doesn't_ disappoint you. She's your compass." He looked away.

"Everyone else is incidental. When a relationship gets too close, you push the person away. You cause the problem but do it in such a way that you can tell yourself it's the other person's fault."  
Maurice looked back at me, fuming silently.

"You tell me I _avoid _sex to keep feelings out, but you _use _it to keep feelings out. You think if you have an intimate relationship in there," I gestured at the bedroom, "you can avoid having one out here."

I was through.

He glared at me for a long time, then said abruptly, "I'm going for a walk."

I could use some air myself.

"You can't run away from yourself." I called after him.

Believe me. I know.

* * *

He'd been gone about two minutes before I decided what I really needed was some roof time.

I took one of the sticky notes from the fridge and wrote 'Upstairs!' on it, so he wouldn't flip if he came back and found the apartment empty.

I'd thrown my red hooded sweatshirt overboard, so I borrowed one of his. A grey, hooded one with a little 'NYPD' on it.

I made sure the door was locked after me. If I came down from the roof before he returned from his walk, I could just sit in the hall. No big deal.

I ran up the stairs. At the top I noticed a light switch. So there _was _a roof light. We just hadn't needed it with the moon.

I opened the door slowly and silently and stepped out onto the roof. The pizza box and empty beer bottles were right where we'd left them.

There was a 55-gallon drum at the front right corner of the roof that served as a garbage can, so I cleaned up our mess. Then I went to the front of the roof – again, the place with all the lights, the sounds, the life – braced myself against the wall and turned my face up to the night sky, breathing deeply.

After about ten minutes I heard the door open quickly, with a squeal.

"That was quick." I commented.

The second he put his hands on me, I knew it wasn't Maurice.

"Long time, Katie."

"Not long enough, Evan."


	36. Chapter 36

I shrugged out of his grip and turned around to face him.

He looked horrible. He'd lost weight; he'd gained circles under the eyes, lines on the face…he looked _hollow_.

"You look _great_." I said. "Last three years been a little rough?"

I hadn't had to read him in so long, I wasn't exactly sure what to do, how to behave. What exactly did he want? What exactly would set him off?

"No, _you _look great. I always thought you'd look good as a blonde." He gave me an adoring smile, and reached out and touched my hair. That was creepy. I smacked his hand away.

"I hate it. First chance I get, it's gone." He frowned as if he didn't understand my hostility.

"What do you _want_, Evan?" I wasn't getting a sense of menace from him, just emptiness. I'd expected rage, anger, threats.

"Well, I came to take you home..." He began simply, as if it made all the sense in the world.

"Oh, boy, you _have_ burned out quite a few brain cells in the last three years, haven't you?"

His eyes fell on the logo on the sweatshirt.

"You're wearing his clothes."

"It's a cold night. Seemed like the thing to do."

"A cop. You know how much I _hate_ cops." There was my first glimpse of fury. I remembered one night we'd gotten pulled over and he'd had to be polite and submissive and it had nearly killed him on the spot. He hadn't taken it out on me, but I seriously wondered about the next person who had gotten in his way.

"Right. This is all about _you_. So feel free to explore your feelings."

"I couldn't believe it when they told me. I thought you and I had the same values and ideas."

"Oh, we _never _had that."

"Dad's looking for you, too. You're lucky I found you first. I can protect you from him."

"Yeah, the role of 'protector', that suits you." I swear I couldn't stop myself.

"He wants to hurt you because you broke my heart."

"What heart?" Call me crazy, but could it be that Evan didn't know anything about the documents I'd taken? That would make resolving this situation a lot simpler.

"He told you that?"

"Those exact words."

So Dad didn't trust son with vital information anymore. That didn't surprise me, considering the brain-dead goober I was dealing with.

"I won't tell him I found you. I won't tell him where you are."

The bumbling fool had probably led him right to me.

* * *

I walked in circles until the cold started getting to me, then I went home.

I stood outside the apartmentfor a couple minutes, head on the door, eyes closed, dreading the fallout. I had trouble wrestling my keys out of the coat pocket because they'd poked through the lining, so I had to take the coat off and ease them out without tearing anything further. Which is when I saw the crumpled yellow paper on the ground, right in the corner at the base of the door.

This was new. I picked it up and smoothed it out.

It read "Upstairs!" with an arrow. She'd left a note so I wouldn't be worried. I started to smile, then frowned.

She'd gone to the roof. Alone.

"Stupid!" I muttered.

Then it occurred to me.

S_he_ hadn't crumpled the paper and thrown it on the floor. I dropped the coat and the keys and took the stairs two at a time.

At the top I stopped and listened, trying to catch my breath. I could hear voices. Probably a good thing.

Checked my gun. All good.

Please, please, please let it be Davis. Just Davis. Or Faith. The super, even.

I eased the door open slowly, knowing it would creak if it opened too quickly.

I could see them at the front of the building, right where we'd been last night. Stepping out of the doorway, I closed it just as slowly. He had his back to me, and Kate was backed up against the wall in front of him. God, he was big. I aimed right at the back of his head and willed him to do something stupid.

And Kate did something amazing. Or, rather, _didn_'_t _do.

She knew I was there, but she didn't even glance in my direction, which is instinctual when something moves into your line of vision. She kept her eyes right on his face, without even a flicker. She _really _didn't want him to know I was there.

He was talking in a low voice, and I couldn't really hear him, but at least he wasn't a raving lunatic. And she was OK. So far.

Her arms were at her sides and again without looking at me, she purposely flicked the first two fingers of her right hand, trying to tell me something. What, did she think she was Obi Wan Kenobi: 'this is not the son of a bitch you're looking for?'

Or was she telling me to leave? Like hell.

I hadn't shut the door fully and now it rested closed with a soft click.

Crap.

"Is that you, cop?" Evan said, without turning. "You can't do anything to me. I haven't done a thing wrong."

He was right. I started to tell him I could make him leave, but Kate looked at me in alarm and shook her head.

_Don't speak._

She looked back up at him, then over at me again, and she chucked at her nose with her knuckle and gave an exaggerated sniff.

He was all coked up. This just kept getting better.

I was about to take a step toward them, but she saw me shift my weight and shook her head at me again.

_Don't move._

What the hell did she _want_ me to do?

She said something to him I couldn't hear tokeep his attention off the fact that she gestured at me with her hand again.

She wanted me to put the gun away.

Not a chance. For a brief second she gave me a fierce look: _No one gets hurt today_.

I lowered the gun, keeping it at my side.

Evan put his mouth to Kate's ear and whispered something that made her face go white. She reached behind her and gripped the edge of the parapet. He stepped back, crossing his arms, smiling.

"Juan and Bobby are _dead_?" Good girl. Loud enough so I could hear. "How?"

"I'm not sure _exactly_, but I know it wasn't pleasant. And they were the only other people who knew where to find you."

"If that's the case, it would give me a great feeling of security if you were to join them." She smiled at him.

Jesus, Kate.

"I told you I wouldn't let anyone hurt you again."

"That's really an amazing statement, coming from you."

"I was told Juan suffered greatly. He's the one who hit you."

"Juan is dead because he hit me." she clarified.

He nodded.

"Then what do _you_ deserve, Evan?" she asked in evenly measured tones.

He took a step back."You're not the girl I remember. You're not _my_ Kate." He said sadly.

"Well, you've got _two _things right. Would you like to try for a third? Because if you get one _more_ right, I just might let you get out of here," she glanced down at the front of his khakis then back up at his face, "_intact."_

Good. Way to provoke a coked up junkie with hostility issues. It was killing me, not getting involved. And I was in the perfect mood to crack a skull. Please, Evan, do something stupid.

"You're just talking that way because your boyfriend has a gun. Cops have an exaggerated sense of their own importance."

It helps.

"So do you! I didn't realize until this very moment just how insignificant you are. I spent the last three years with Evan Benedict hanging over my head like a vulture, but you weren't really there at all. You're _nothing_."

Maybe I _could_ stay out of it for a little while. It seemed like she needed to do this.

That made him angry. He leaned in at her and jabbed her with his finger at the base of her throat, in that soft spot. I could tell it hurt, but she didn't move and she flashed me a look tomake sure I hadn't moved.

"I am _not _'nothing'. I have money and power and success and everything I ever wanted. You left all that to live in a dirty city and screw a cop."

She crossed her arms and glared back at him. "So? Live with _that_."

"Lowest life form there is." He growled.

"Let me get this straight. We've got criminals _here_," she glared steadily at him and gestured with her right hand at his eye level, "drug addicts _here," _she held her left hand about six inches lower, "and cops _here?" _She dropped her right hand underneath her left. "Do I have that right?"

"Just about."

Kate dropped her arms and put her face as close to his as she could.

"Tell, me, Evan, where do _rapists_ fit in your little hierarchy?" she demanded.

He'd turned a little, so I could see surprise on his face. "I did that for _us_."

I stand corrected. Coked-up junkie hostile _psycho_.

"That," Kate said slowly, "I beyond delusional. That is just _sick_."

"I thought it would make you stay. We'd be joined." He linked both hands, making an 'open the door and here's all the people' gesture. "We'd have that bond."  
"Oh, wow, do you even know how psycho that sounds?"

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get over me."

"Get over you." She repeated flatly.

The unimaginable arrogance.

"I wanted you back, Kate. Until I found out about_ this_," he glanced at me, gesturing with disdain. "Now all I want is closure."

I've got closure for you, Evan. All kinds of it.

"You want closure? I'll make this real easy for you. He's not the only one. There have been about two _dozen_, _all _of them cops," she paused and squinted up at the night sky, "wait, except for that ice-cream vendor." She gave him a 'deal with that' face. "But it's interesting to know that you, of all people, are disgusted and repulsed by that."

He suddenly stepped forward and grabbed her in a bear hug. I didn't know if he was going to throw her off the roof, so I raised my gun again, but he released her just as quickly and I swear I saw a tear on his cheek. This guy was nuts.

He backed away from her and I backed away from the door to give him a wide berth.

"I won't tell anyone where you are, Kate. I promise."

"I'll never forget you," she said in a saccharine movie-ending voice that he missed completely. I think she may even have batted her eyelashes. She had one hand on her heart, lips pressed together to prevent laughter.

He turned and started to lumber past me for the stairs. But then he stopped and looked me over. "Who would have thought. Whore to a cop." And he moved on.

I started to lunge after him, maybe just to shove him down the stairs, but Kate snagged a belt loop with a couple of fingers and my shoulder with her left hand and held tight.

"Let him go." She whispered in my right ear.

I took me a minute to relax, but when I did, she slipped her left arm around my neck and her right around my stomach, burying her head between my shoulder blades.

"I don't even know who that was." she lamented.


	37. Chapter 37

"_Ice cream vendor_?" I queried, as we clattered back down the stairs.

We'd waited a while to see if he'd come back, but we actually looked out over the front of the building and had seen Evan finally emerge from the front of the building and get into a cab. Kate had exhaled in relief.

She laughed, and full, genuine laugh, that told me she was going to be all right.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

"David Lee Roth, I guess." She stopped me on the next landing, grabbing my arm. "Do you think it will be safe?"

"I don't think that guy will even find his way home. And if he does, from the looks of him, he won't be bothering _anybody _inside of six months."

She was pensive.

"You eased up on the guy. You could have demolished him." I observed.

"Kermit the Frog could have demolished him." She sighed, dropping to sit on the bottom step, knees almost to her nose, those long legs. "It would have been too _easy_. Too sad."

"You came after _me_ hard."

"I knew you could take it. Or die trying." Heart-melting grin.

"He doesn't deserve your mercy." I sat next to her, making sure I was a decent distance away.

"None of us do. That's why it's called mercy." There was that clarity that Sully was talking about. It was there in her eyes and it was in what she said.

"You don't hate him." I realized.

"No. I feel sorry for him. I saw the man he was, but I also saw the man he _could_ be. I thought if I believed in him enough he'd make the right choices. Learned _my _lesson."

"Not all men are that stupid."

"Oh, they absolutely are. Just in different ways."

"Right. Like what?"

"Like…some guys need to have two Mommies because they're terrified of having one wife?"

"Hm." I looked up at the ceiling. "You _could _have a point." A point I'd been unwilling to concede a half hour ago.

"And I'm sure there are some who don't know when to _not _be a hero." She looked at me with admiration.

"You wouldn't let me do anything." I complained. That really bothered me.

"He would have taken you apart." Kate said.

"Well, sure, he's a big guy, but I have anger."

She laughed. "He'd never _touch _you. That's not how he operates. He'd just systematically dismantle your life. And the lives of everyone you care about. You stay out of it, you have nothing to do with it, he leaves you alone. You never gave him a reason."

Everything she'd done, and everything she'd told me not to do…

_She'd_ been protecting _me_.

Hell.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Meant to add this to the last few chapters & never did:**_

_**Thank you to you crazy folks who keep returning to read this, um, stuff. This is probably one of the strangest things I've ever done, considering I usually don't let other people see my words! Please leave reviews good, bad or indifferent…**_

_**A special thank you to MiniBenson & rubadubdubbs who have been so very faithful with their reading and their commentary!!!**_

* * *

Maurice's coat and keys were on the floor.

"What's this?"

"I dropped them."

"I can see that." I picked them up and handed them to him.

"If he hadn't crumpled up your note –" He ran his hand across his forehead. "I was mad. I didn't want to deal. I wouldn't have gone upstairs." He confessed, and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

"But you did."

"Only because he crumpled up your note. I would have left you alone."

"But you didn't. It's over. It's all over." How could he be agonizing over something that hadn't happened?

"Is it?" he ushered me into the apartment and made sure everything was locked tight. "You think he meant what he said?"

"He _always_ meant what he said."

"You were amazing."  
"So were you."

He slapped the table. "That ends the first meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society. I need a drink. You?"

And everything hit me suddenly, the series of events that could have followed if Evan hadn't turned the note into a ball and thrown it on the floor.

I felt lightheaded and my imagination ran wild, covering everything from Evan pitching me off the roof, to Maurice finally getting worried and finding my bloody corpse in the stairwell, and everything in between. My stomach turned over and I bolted for the bathroom. I had nothing to throw up, but I did it anyway.

Guess I couldn't criticize him for worrying about things that hadn't happened.

I splashed ice cold water on my face and didn't even recognize myself in the mirror. How had I changed so much in only four days? I was the same, but I wasn't the same. It was as if he'd walked into the house of my psyche and rearranged things to suit him. Took things off shelves and put things in drawers. Dusted a few things off. Rearranged the medicine cabinet.

Yeah, I needed that drink.

But first I brushed my teeth three times.

Maurice was in the kitchen waiting for me, two rocks glasses and a bottle of bourbon on the counter.

"Ugh. Bourbon."

"Sorry. All I've got."

"I'd drink turpentine right now."

"Are you okay?"

"No. But I will be. Pour away. Make mine a double."

He did.

"Cheers." I clinked my glass against his, drained it and dropped it back on the counter. "Hit me."

He looked at me warily. "Are we going down _this _road again?"

"Don't know. I'll keep you informed." He poured, I drank.

I set the glass back down, frowned at it for a second, then poured another for both of us.

"Drink up." I instructed. "And _keep_ up, because it'll really suck if I start thinking everything's funny and you don't."

He humored me and drained his glass, then said "I've got to go call Faith and let her know what happened."

"Okay," I took his glass and set it on the counter next to mine.

When he left, I opened the kitchen window. I'd heard the wind buffeting it, but wasn't prepared for the powerful gust that blew in. But I liked it. It was almost constant, without let-up, and I could smell the coming rain.

I wondered if he'd let me go stand in the rain on the roof.

* * *

When I came back, Kate had the window open and was gripping the kitchen counter, elbows locked, eyes closed and leaning into the wind like she was on the bow of a ship. Her hair was blowing almost straight back. She was breathing deeply and didn't seem to mind the rain that was coming in. It was almost as if she was feeding off the wind - gaining strength from it.

I wanted to be her strength.

I wanted to touch her and hold her and tell her everything would be all right.

So I did.

She leaned back into me and whispered something I could barely hear above the wind:

"You make me feel safe."

Everything considered, I couldn't think of a better compliment than that.

An especially strong gust brought a spray of water in.

"It's just like _Titanic_." Right in my eye. I blinked.

She laughed, "God, I hope not!"

"It was a good movie."

"Did you _catch _the last forty-five minutes?"

"We all know how it ends." I thought about Faith's comment – about me knowing the outcome from the beginning. Sure I had, I just hadn't want to think about it.

Still didn't.

"Knowing didn't keep me from crying."

"It never does." I sighed. "It's been one hell of a day."

"Day's not over," she checked her watch. "Forty-one minutes. Still salvageable."

It was starting to get cold, with the water and the wind. Kate was taking the brunt of it, but she didn't seem to mind it.

"I mean, if you erase the whole Evan thing, it wasn't a _bad_ night." She continued.

"Aahh.." I began, "But I said some things –"

She broke free from me and turned to face me, grasping my wet face in her hands.

"_True_ things," she clarified, smoothing some of the water away with her thumbs. Then she exclaimed, "Dammit to hell!"

"What?"

"Oh, I meant to do this earlier, but the day kind of got away from me."

"What?"

She stepped right in and kissed me on the mouth.

Did not see that coming.

Ten seconds broke through my overdeveloped sense of 'it's not like that'.

Twenty practically gave me a lobotomy.

I took a big step back, hand on her shoulder, keeping her at an arm's length, more for my sake than hers, I think.

" 'Searching for a handle on the moment? I can't help you'." She said breathlessly.

_Men In Black._ I thought. I was glad _she_ could speak because I thought if I tried I might just whimper like a puppy.

Night salvaged. I'm good.

Then she brushed my hand off her shoulder and stepped forward, putting her hands on my face again. "Let me do this."

I let her.

Finally, I had to break away and step back a few feet.

"You've got to stop doing that. I'm not known for my restraint."

She shook her head, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me again.

You may have noticed that Kate has a way of getting what she wants.

This time, dear God, she wanted me.

It was close to dawn before we decided we'd had enough of each other and could use some sleep.


	39. Chapter 39

Some days, I feel better equipped to deal with life than others. This was definitely one of those days. I should know by now that those are the days that beat you down the hardest.

Somehow, I woke up at exactly 8:15. Knowing Davis, he'd be early. I indulged: five more minutes next to a soundly sleeping Kate, then a quick shower.

I had to wake her, but ended up watching her sleep. For three years I had seen her face almost every afternoon. Strange coincidence. Fate, maybe. Standing there, I thought it ironic that this was the point at which so many of my 'relationships' ended, and here I wasright at the beginning. Now that I was thinking about it, I went out to where I'd left my coat on the dining room table and took the poster picture out of the pocket. I stuck it on the side of the fridge with a magnet from the Chinese place. I really liked her with the dark hair.

I went back to the bedroom and hesitated. I'd never had to wake her before. I was afraid she'd be cranky. Gingerly, I sat on the edge of the bed next to her and smoothed the hair back from her face. She stirred.

"Kate. Half an hour until Davis gets here. You've gotta get up."

She opened one eye, said "Half hour? Mmm…come here," and reached for me.

"Any other day."

Kate rolled onto her back and looked up at me then frowned. "I have something to tell you."

"Can it wait? I've got to get the coffee started. You've got to get going. You promised him breakfast."

"Okay." Eyes closed. "Where did I leave my painting clothes?"  
"Top of the dresser." I patted her arm. "Half an hour." I said, and left.

* * *

I watched him go. To hell with Tabasco. We needed to re-work the whole Scoville scale and fit this guy in somewhere between law enforcement grade pepper spray and pure capsaicin. My shower was going to be on the cool side.

* * *

As I'd predicted, Davis was early.

"Go away." I said when I opened the door to his cop pounding.

"Good morning to you, too." He started to come in, but I stopped him.

"You treat her like she's your _sister_. Got it?"

"Got it." He said, raising his hands.

I held him for a second.

"I _got _it!" he insisted.

I let him in and shut the door.

"Coffee's ready. Kate'll be out in a minute." I said so gruffly I sounded like Sully.

And she was. In painting clothes, hair still wet from her shower. Calm, quiet.

"Hey, Ty!" she said brightly to Davis. It was clear it was an effort.

"Hey, _Tired_." He responded.

"I am." She agreed.

"Bosco said he's got the coffee ready. Can I get you some?"

"Mmm, yeah." She said and went toward the kitchen with him. She gave me a tiny, serene, almost dreamy smile that made me want to shove Davis out the door by his face and lock out the world for the next three months.


	40. Chapter 40

Kate made bacon tomato Swiss omelettes.

"You like that Swiss in the omelettes, huh?" I observed.

"What else would you put in there? _Don't _say American."

"What. It's American."

"That's disgusting. Cheddar, I could see. Maybe Colby-jack. But American isn't even real cheese. You might as well put a lump of lard in there."

Davis looked from one of us to the other, amused.

"All I said was you seem to like Swiss, and you call in an air strike against American cheese."

"You made it sound like a criticism."

"How did I do that?"

"You didn't just say 'It seems you like Swiss', you said '_that _Swiss', like it was a term of contempt, as in 'Is he still seeing _that girl?_'"

" 'Scuse me. Mom? Dad? Can I get more coffee?" Davis interjected, not waiting for an answer.

I couldn't help but smile. Kate, too.

"I meant no disrespect." I said to her.

"You know_ I_ did."

"All right you two, kiss and make up." Davis dropped back into his chair casually, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle.

"Well, if you insist –" Kate began and I kicked her under the table. She frowned at me. I shook my head. "Whatever." She said and got up to clear her dishes.

"I'll take that," I said, picking up Davis's empty plate as well as my own and following her into the kitchen.

She was filling the sink with hot soapy water. "Mind telling me what that was about?"

"I just don't want him to know, that's all." I set the dishes on the counter next to the sink and topped off my coffee.

"Why not? Who cares?."

"_I_ do."

"He's a grown up. He can handle it. What difference does it make?"

I shrugged, "I don't want them putting you in the same category with – you know."

"The other six hundred and seventy-nine." She said, with good humor.

"Six hundred seventy-_eight_."

She shook her head. "I'm going to need to see documentation if I'm going to believe those numbers. I think you're being humble and self-deprecatory." She squeezed my face with a soapy hand.

"I'm certain you're in the four-digit range."

Her eyes were unbelievable. And she really didn't care. Just as I was. She took me just as I was.

I removed her hand because I knew Davis could see us, and wiped the soap off of my face. Who knew what was going through his head now.

She smiled. "You want to kiss me right now, don't you?" she asked in a really low voice.

"I do." I nodded, equally quiet.

"There is nothing stopping you but yourself."

"Can't. Won't."

"I think you're being silly."

"Davis doesn't want to watch us make out in the kitchen."

"Have you asked him?"

I gave her shoulder a little shove and she retaliated by delivering a two-handed pile of suds right to my chest, smacking it until all the bubbles had dissipated and my shirt was just wet. She ran her hands over it and murmured with a frown, "Well, _that _backfired." And she sighed deeply.

I grabbed her wrists. "Stop." I said firmly.

"All that work and I don't get to play." She pouted.

I pointed at the front door. "The second I snap that lock behind him." I released her and stepped back.

Stripping off my wet shirt, I threw it in the soapy water. "Take care of that, would you?"

She looked me over, sighing, "You're not playing fair."

I stopped at the doorway and pointed at her, "You're _starting_ to get an idea what my last four days have been like."


	41. Chapter 41

: x very dissatisfied fought with this for 2 days BTW just saw _8MM_ for the first time:Fred Yokas has now devolved into the deep dark world of 'way too creepy'!

* * *

I looked at the shirt, sitting on top of the soapy water and just left everything in the sink for later. Ty was still at the table with his coffee. Maurice emerged from the bedroom wearing a clean, dry shirt. I smiled. _Nice_. He smiled back.

"Are we going to get started? I came here to help you paint, not to watch you two flirt." Ty said.

"There's no flirting." Maurice said in that tight, tense 'back off' tone of his. "There's no flirting."

Ty raised his hands, "."

"Well, _I _was flirting. But _this _guy," I nodded at Maurice, "He is a _rock_. 100% professional. Isn't having any of it. Stoic as hell."

* * *

I could kill her.

She told him without telling him.

He knew better.

He knew me.

I crossed my arms, and glared at him, defying him to say otherwise.

I could tell he wanted to.

If it had been just me he would have.

* * *

"All right," I said, standing over the drop cloth that held all our supplies, "Huddle up."

I looked down at everything, taking inventory and started to smile.

Ty caught my eye and smiled too. We waited for Maurice to catch up.

"What." He demanded.

We just looked at him.

"What!"

"No paint!" Ty and I said simultaneously.

"Aww!" He made a face that was disgusted, annoyed and pissed off all at the same time.

"That's okay," I said, "Ty and I can prep everything while you go get the paint." I pulled him along into the kitchen and made a detailed list of what he'd need to get.

"Make sure the cream-colored paint has a high gloss. You want that fireplace to 'pop'." I added.

He glanced out at Ty, who was starting to sand the gloss off the paint currently on the façade of the fireplace. "Can't _he _go?" he groused.

"No. This is _your _apartment. Your project. You need to pick the shade you want." I said, as though he were a little boy. "Besides," I took his hand and rubbed his palm with my thumb. "What do you honestly think we'd get done if he left us alone?"

"Plenty." He made it sound like a promise. Made my knees weak.

"Hey, Ty? Maurice wants to know if you'll go to the hardware store for him to get the paint." I called out to him. God, he made me forget why I'd been fighting so hard for so long.

"No!" Was his terse, but light, reply.

I shrugged. "I tried. It's all you." I glanced out at Ty, who had his back to us. I risked a kiss.

"Mm. Stop stop stop. We're gonna get caught." He pulled away.

"What are we: teenagers in Mommy and Daddy's basement?"

He made a face. "I'll be back."

"Don't threaten _me_." I called after him.

I stepped to the kitchen doorway in time to see Maurice about to shut the door behind him point a finger at Ty and say, "Your _sister_."

He slammed the door.

"You missed a spot," I kidded.

Ty stopped sanding and straightened, dropping his arms to his sides.

"So what's the deal with you two?"

"Is that a cop thing, always going right for the proverbial elephant in the room?"

"I guess so. Most situations, you've got to get to the heart of the matter pretty quickly. No time for dancing around things."

That made sense.

"So? What's the deal with you two?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

"I don't know how to answer that." I responded. "And I don't think I should."

"Come oonnnn. 'Enquiring minds want to know'." He had a very nice smile, and he knew how to use it.

"I see what you did there. You have a natural charm about you, but it's not going to get an answer out of me. You're going to have to get it from him."

"I'd get a _beating_ from him before I'd get an answer." He paused and started sanding again. "It's just that by all accounts you're a decent, good, no- _great_ - person, and yet it seems like you're really into him. I can't reconcile the two. I don't see it. All I can come up with is Sully's answer: Stockholm Syndrome."

"Would it be that incomprehensible?"

He thought for a minute, then looked at me. "Yeah."

There was no way I could give him a straight answer, so I went to my reserve of movie quotes.

" He had me at 'hello'."

"No."

"He completes me."

He shook his head. "No way."

" "He likes the way I talk, I like the way he talks. MmmHmm'." I growled.

"Nope."

"He makes me want to be a better man?"

"Sorry."

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner?"I was flailing.

"Now you're just messing with me."

"I'm going to have to switch to song lyrics." I warned. "Either that or I'm going to have to tell you the truth."

"The truth being?"

Well, it was what Maurice wanted:

"There's no 'deal with the two of us'." That couldn't exactly be called a lie, since we hadn't discussed any sortof _deal,_ right? I love semantics.

"There's nothing going on."

"There's nothing going on." I confirmed. By that, I meant 'There's nothing going on _at this very moment_." And the reason there was nothing going on at this very moment was because I'd felt the need yesterday to push Maurice's buttons. That very reason was standing right in front of me.

"We're like oil and water." I continued. "I flirt with him to annoy him."

"Didn't look like that yesterday." Ty observed

"Well, I was trying to be nice. Not 'into him'. No 'deal'. Just trying to get through the day. Besides, it would be ridiculous to try to get something going since, in a matter of days, for all intents and purposes I'll be vanishing off the face of the earth." A reality I wasn't ready to face yet.

"Okay."

* * *

When I finally got back, Kate and Davis actually _behaving_ like siblings. They had the radio on loud and were shouting Joan Jett's _I Hate Myself for Loving You._ They were sanding the mantle and blowing the dust at each other, which was making an unholy mess.

"This gloss stuff," I said, depositing the box of paint on the table, "is expensive. What is it made from, _unicorn_?" Kate looked concerned and came over to look at what I'd purchased.

"Oh, honey, you got the _oil_ based paint."

"You said 'high gloss'."

"I did, but... " she sighed. "Well, I'm pretty sure the last time the fireplace was painted they used an oil-based paint. You can put latex over oil, but not oil over latex. If that's the case, we're good, but we'll need turpentine."

"I have bourbon." That made her smile.

"I told him there's nothing going on." She whispered. "He bought it."

"Okay. Good."

"I don't like to lie."

"I know. Give me some time. Right now, I would never hear the end of it."

"Okay." She agreed.

"Any more coffee left?"

"I'll get you some." She disappeared into the kitchen. I threw my coat on the table and watched Davis work.

"Hey." He said. "It's not all that ornate, but there are a lot of grooves and ridges that need more attention."

I nodded. Kate came back with the coffee and stood next to me, watching him.

* * *

Maurice sipped his coffee.

I'd done this to myself and he was making me pay for it, so I felt the need to push back a little.

He glanced at me. I made a subtle gesture with my head, indicating Ty.

He frowned at me, quizzically.

I made the same gesture raising my eyebrows.

"What." He mouthed silently.

I waited until he'd taken a big gulp of coffee then caught his eye.

"Threesome" I mouthed at him.

He spit the coffee out in a hilariously satisfying spray that nearly reached Ty, who jumped backin disbelief.

He wiped the mouth with the back of his hand and pointed at me, wide-eyed. "You'd better be kidding."

I was laughing so hard I could barely speak. When I finally caught my breath I said "I was. But I just needed that priceless moment."

Ty just looked at us and shook his head. His eyes met mine and they said "Liar."


	42. Chapter 42

Kate was sanding the small spots on the walls that she'd filled in with spackle.

Davis was still working on the complexities of the fireplace.

I was trying to look like I was doing something useful.

The second Davis excused himself for a bathroom break I came up behind her, spun her around and kissed her hard. She gave me an embrace so strong it hurt.

"Where is he?" She asked between kisses.

"Bathroom."

"I am so stupid."

"Yeah, y'are."

"You," she whispered, "Are exactly what I needed."

I think I bumped her head against the wall at some point, but the second I heard the bathroom door open, I made sure I was back over by the supplies.

I tried to look nonchalant, but Kate had it better than me because she was able to look busy. I ended up looking like I was standing around checking her out. And Davis's face showed it.

"She looks pretty good in your clothes," he observed, making sure Kate couldn't hear.

"That's been established. Move on."

"Seriously, I know she shot me down last time, but we had a good conversation while you were gone and I think maybe I can-"

"Shut up." I interrupted. I knew he was trying to get a reaction out of me.

"She said I had a natural charm about me."

She'd said that?

"You're just a kid and I'd hate to have to render you useless to the ladies at this tender young age."

"You're pretty defensive for a guy who claims 'it's not like that'." Oh, he was pushing hard.

"It's _definitely _'not like that' for _you_." I replied dryly.

He gave me a minute's reprieve before adding,"She's crazy about you, too." He looked over at me, arms crossed, eyebrow arched.

I looked at him for a half a minute. He had me. And he knew it.

"How did you manage that?" he asked.

"I don't know." I said simply, and decided that this would be a fine time to brew more coffee.

For some reason Mom had left me a package of whole-bean Starbucks coffee. I shoved it to the back of the cabinet. Not only did my coffee-maker lack grinding abilities, I would never ingest _anything _Starbucks. Nothing personal, just that you've got one just about every three feet. Much ado about nothing. Like the toy crazes at Christmas: 'Tickle Me Elmo', Cabbage Patch Kids. That type of thing makes me go as fast as I can in the opposite direction. If _everyone_ wants something, all of a sudden I don't.

The sunshine was brilliant. It was one of those days that make you think you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. Makes you optimistic. And I was.

I had been enjoying getting to know Kate on a personal level. The thing with her was, the more I got the more I wanted. Her little stories about crazy people on the streets of New York and noticing Christmas music at the sushi place in April…she had such a fresh outlook on things, and I wanted more of it.

I certainly hadn't expected things to take the turn they had. I felt a twinge of guilt. Kate had obviously made up her mind about it and wasn't about to take no for an answer, but I couldn't help thinking maybe I should have at least _acted _a little more reluctant. Actually, I probably should have insisted she rethink things. I felt bad about our earlier argument, the one where I pretty much took away all the reasons she'd cited for her choice. I was _right_, but I still felt like a heel for pointing it out so carelessly. I should have let her work through all that herself. In her own time. It was born out of frustration, but now it just felt like self-indulgence. I could have handled things better. Sometimes being the one who's right isn't what matters.

But she'd been right, too about me and relationships and women. Best example: Nicole. Things were getting too close, I manufactured a problem where there didn't really have to be one, because who the hell was I to judge her, and then convinced myself it was her fault it was over.

The self-sabotage was stunning. Gilligan's Island Syndrome. I spent all my time chasing Gingers and expecting them to be Mary Ann, then throwing them back because they weren't. It was like expecting rhododendrons to sprout roses.

Clarity. Thanks, Sul.


	43. Chapter 43

I was glad that the effort I was expending sanding could explain the color Maurice had brought to my face.

I stepped back from the wall. That about did it. I chucked the sanding block down on the drop cloth and headed for the bathroom for a thorough hand washing.

Ty was still working on the fireplace facade, whistling contentedly.

"You're going to sand that thing into oblivion," I commented.

"Perseverance."

After I washed, I ran the icy water over my wrists and slapped some on my neck and face to cool off. When I looked in the mirror it felt like someone else was looking back. How had I gotten to the place where I didn't recognize myself inside _or _out? How had four days and one guy made such a difference?

I'd spent _three years_ constructing this impenetrable fortress to keep people out – he'd been exactly right about that. Not only had he dismantled it in four _days_, he'd dissolved most of the excuses I'd used for having it in the first place.

How had I let this happen?

I certainly hadn't been _looking _for this; I'd been running _from_ it. I picked at my thumbnail. I'd broken a little bit at the edge.

Friday night seemed ages ago. Was I the same girl who had sparked such absolute _fury_ in this guy?

I thought about how I'd come close to just taking my chances and leaving – twice.

What if I had?

Where would I be now?

I'd still have my fortress intact. (Fortress or prison? Now there's a question for another day…)

I probably wouldn't have had to see Evan again. That possibility had both positives and negatives. On the positive side, I wouldn't have had to see Evan again. On the negative side, he still would have tracked me here. And Maurice would not have been expecting that.

My imagination got the better of me. Maurice taken by surprise, the gruesome things Evan would have done to get him to say where I was, even I he didn't know. It made me sick just thinking about it. I knew I'd prevented something on the roof, but I wasn't sure what.

How could I care for someone in such a short period of time? Or was it his protectiveness and I just wanted to even things up…?

I had a hard time believing that the guy who punched a wall was the same one I'd let put his hands on me last night.

Let?

Wanted.

Demanded, without words.

He'd been surprised and unprepared, and that made me feel more than a little self-centered.

Especially after what I'd said about having consideration for the other person involved. I remembered our conversation:

"_Don't you think it would be __selfish__ of me to go after something just because__ I__want __it, with no thought for the other person? To use up someone's time, attention and emotions when I know I'm not where I need to be to make it work?" _

"_Not if it's someone who can help you put the pieces back together."_

"_That's asking an awful lot of someone: 'Here, put my heart and soul back together and __then__ I'll give them to you.' You have to start on the puzzle yourself before you can get someone to help you with it. And when you __do__, it would have to be someone pretty damn special."_

"_You can't expect to finish it first. No one's puzzle __ever__ gets finished. You __always__ have to take a chance."_

Especially since he had gone out of his way to make it clear, in spite of his jokes and innuendo, that it wasn't an issue and I could feel safe and never need to have that fear around him. I'd felt the war of wills last night. He wanted to, but felt he shouldn't. He struggled with it. If he'd been a pushover, I think I'd only feel contempt for both of us today.

I had been buffing the sink with the hand towel. I glanced back up into the mirror and my insides did that roller-coaster stomach drop when I saw Maurice standing behind me, just outside the bathroom door, serious, silent and still.

Michael Myers eerie.

All the things I had been thinking… I wondered exactly what emotions had flickered across my face. What had he seen? _That _was an intimacy I wasn't prepared to have: my expressions, unedited.

"Regrets?" His expression told me he expected me to say yes.

I turned around. "No." I said simply and honestly. "None."

"You _sure_?"

"Positive."

Relief flashed across his face.

"You?" I countered.

"One," he frowned, brushing his finger across the scrape on my right cheek.

"Are you kidding? That was the most romantic moment of my life. You had me at 'You like hitting women, you skinny punk?'." Big smile.

Made him smile back.

* * *

Davis and Kate had the most unusual argument about where to start painting. She wanted to do the walls first, while he thought we should begin with the trim. It was unusual because they each tried to outdo each other with courtesy, but still tried to get their way.

Kate got her way.

Because I'd gotten oil-based paint.


	44. Chapter 44

Kate had won her case by pointing out that since latex paint dries much faster than oil-based paint, we could do the walls, take a minimal break while they dried and then get started on the trim. If we used the oil-based paint, we'd either have to wait until much later, or even overnight to start the walls. Davis grudgingly gave in to the logic of it.

Then they haggled over who would start where. Kate wanted to cut in at the top of the wall, while Davis suggested that they go by height. He eventually won that one. I just lay on the couch watching.

I began to think she was just arguing for the sake of arguing when she picked a fight over who would get which brush. One was ½" wider than the other. After a couple of minutes she gave him the brush he wanted and confessed with a smile that she'd just wanted another one in the 'win' column.

"When is _he_ going to do something?" Davis gestured at me.

"I'm _managing_." I said decisively.

"Who are you kidding? You've been on a union break all day." Kate said. "Making coffee doesn't count."

"Don't criticize how I manage my team. Besides, it's an essential."

"It very much is, but it doesn't excuse you from doing real work."

"You hurt my feelings: you called in a professional. I'm too emotionally distraught to be of any use to you." I sighed dramatically and covered my eyes with my forearm. Davis chuckled.

"That goes without saying, but right now we're talking about painting. So can the 'sensitive artist' act."

I pulled my arm away from my eyes and frowned at her.

"I'm sensitive." I objected.

She lifted an eyebrow and looked at Davis. "He's sensitive."

"So he claims."

"Sensitive people feel pain more acutely than we _non_-sensitive types." She pointed out.

"I've heard that."

"I say we tweak his sensitivity enough to motivate him to move."

"How would you recommend we do that?"

"Several strategically situated small fires?"she suggested.

"No, if things got out of control, the fire department wouldn't come. Could hurt _us_. Smoke inhalation and all that."

"Hey." I said.

"Taser?" Davis suggested.

Kate made a face that said "Ooo."

"They're not that bad." I rolled onto my side, adjusted my arm under my head and closed my eyes.

" Wooooww...Tough guy." Kate prodded.

"That's right."

"Tough Guy, curling into a fetal position even as we speak. We've offended his tender sensibilities."

"Just paint my apartment and let me sleep."

"Did he just say that?" Davis asked.

Kate nudged me with her foot. "Come on, get up. I'm as tired as you are."

"You have to deal with _him. _You get _extra _tired points." Davis said.

"They work well. I _am _extra tired."

"Coffee break, then."

Kate and Davis sat at the table and chatted while I half-dozed, making sure they weren't plotting anything particularly nefarious or college pranky.

Their conversation turned back to paint. Kate made a comment about having to clean the brushes with bourbon or throw them out and Davis suggested sending me to get paint thinner.

"Let him rest. I'll go." Kate said.

"Like hell." I said, not moving. "Davis, you go."

"No way. You haven't done _any_thing!"

I sat up and leaned on the back of the couch, "I was already there. Look just go, and while you're there check in with the wallpaper chick. I talked you up and told her you'd be in later."

"You're a liar."

"Not kidding. Swear to God." I raised my right hand.

"You did not."

"Did. Swear."

"You did not."

"I'm telling you. Go. Take her to lunch of you want." Davis looked at Kate, who shrugged.

"All right. I'll go." He caved, and I lay back on the couch. God, I needed sleep.

"Where is it?'

"Go out the downstairs door, take a right, three blocks down."

When he left, Kate came over and nestled herself between me and the back of the couch, as she had the night of the blackout, and murmured, "So tired."

She settled in, and we both sighed contentedly, which made us laugh.

"If he's going to leave you alone, maybe you don't need to leave the city." I hypothesized.

"I don't know," she said drowsily, "There's still his father."

"Maybe they'll get him for something else, and your evidence won't matter anymore."

"Mmm. Maybe." She said. "But 'whatever happens tomorrow, or for the rest of my life – I'm happy now'."

"_Groundhog Day._"

"MmHm." And in a second she was breathing deeply. Asleep.

"I don't want you to go."


	45. Chapter 45

_**A future was lost yesterday as easily and irretrievably as a tennis ball at twilight.**_

_**-Sylvia Plath**_

I woke to someone pounding on the door. I struggled to sit up, groggily, and Kate did the same. Could Davis be back already? If so, he was the world's worst flirt.

I could see the door wasn't bolted.

Not Davis.

"Bosco!"

Faith.

I dragged myself to the door and threw it open, annoyed.

She had two suits with her – so stiff and humorless I knew they were feds.

"What's this?" I asked. Wake up. Think, man. Bring your brain back up to speed.

"Special Agent Richard Durand, FBI" said the one on Faith's left. He flipped his ID open mere inches in front of my face and I slapped it aside. He folded it to tuck it back in his jacket and gave a sideways nod at the other guy.

"My partner, Jim Garrity."

Garrity was unashamedly leering at Kate. I glanced at her. She'd stood, but was bracing herself on the back of the couch, looking more pale than I'd ever seen her. Her eyes were on Faith.

"You said _days_, not _hours_." She said plaintively. "No." her voice was weak. Her eyes flicked to me then back to Faith. "No," she said a little stronger, but not much. "I've changed my mind."

Agent Richard Durand pursed his lips and shook his head. "You don't get to change your mind." He said, shouldering past me as if I wasn't there.

"Come on in, _Dick_."

He ignored me. "You must be Kate."

"That's Miss Rogers to _you_," she said, "Dick."

"What did you do, Faith?" I breathed.

Agent Garrity pushed his way past me as well.

"I called them last night after dinner." Faith stepped inside and shut the door because I was having trouble moving.

"Last night. Behind my back. Without _telling_ me?" I was waking up fast.

"I thought _she'd_ tell you."

"You thought. _You're my partner_."

She nodded grimly. "I should have told you." She acknowledged.

Why hadn't Kate? I glanced over at her. She was talking animatedly to the agents, who looked like they were ganging up on her. She was shaking her head 'no'.

"Why did you call them after _dinner_?" I was confused.

"Kate and I had a talk and she agreed that we needed to get going on this."

"She agreed."

"I pushed her a little. I thought it was our goal."

"Last night."

She nodded.

"During dinner."

"Yes.

I felt blindsided. Kate _agreed_?

"I called them back after you let me know about the thing with Evan Benedict. They felt they needed to step up the timeframe because of it."

"Evan Benedict is _dead_." Durand said harshly. Very tactful. Kate's legs would no longer hold her and she sank to the couch.

Why hadn't she said something? I felt deceived.

"Dead? How?" I demanded.

"After Officer Yokas informed us of the incident, we sent an agent over to question you both, and he intercepted Mr. Benedict. Mr. Benedict attacked our agent with a twelve-inch knife and was killed in the ensuing struggle. We believe he was coming here with the intent of harming you both."

Kate looked faint. I started toward her, but Durand blocked me.

"I assume after the incident on the roof you were vigilant, officer?"

_Vigilant_?

"I was wide awake," I said honestly. "For most of the night."

Evan could have been there jumping rope in a clown suit and I wouldn't have noticed. That gave me chills. Kate and I exchanged a look – she was thinking the same thing.

Faith was frowning. She could tell I'd left out a piece of the puzzle. She looked from me to Kate and back again. I stared her down. If I looked away, she'd know.

I pushed past Durand and Garrity, who were talking, and dropped next to Kate on the couch, my concern for her far overwhelmed by my feelings. I felt a little battered, a little betrayed, a little used. A little angry.

"When were you planning on telling me about this?" I kept my voice low and even. She picked at her thumbnail and wouldn't look at me.

"I tried this morning." Finally, she looked up at me.

"Oh. This _morning. _You didn't think this information would be something I needed to take into consideration _last night_?" I was starting to raise my voice, forgetting there were other people in the room. I didn't even notice that Davis had come back with the paint thinner and was just standing there holding it, taking everything in.

"If I'd known about this I never would have touched you!" I realized suddenly that the agents had stopped talking and we were the center of attention. So much for secrets. I didn't care. I felt like being a little mean, cruel even. "But then you _knew _that, didn't you?"

She looked down at her hands. She _had._

"This was never _about _us, was it? It was all about getting past _him."_ That was unnecessarily vicious, I had to admit.

"No!" she looked up at me sharply, furiously. "No." She looked back down at her hands. "I thought we had time."

"So did I. But you took care of _that_, didn't you? Yeah." I slapped my knees then stood and pointed at Faith. "And so did you." I ignored the feds and Davis and went to the kitchen to stare out Kate's window.

"Better pack your bags, Missy," Garrity said

"Come on," I heard Faith say, "I'll help you."

I was so angry. Angry at Kate, angry at Faith, angry at myself. _Furious_ at myself for spending four days running headlong at something that could never be.

"Hey ," Davis said, gingerly stepping into the kitchen. "That was some scene you made…"

"Shut up and leave me alone. Go home." I poured myself three fingers of the bourbon that I'd left out the night before and knocked it back without even a sputter. Like Kate with the vodka that first night. This gave me a little more insight to what her state of mind had been. Not that it mattered now.

"I don't think you should be-"

"Shut up and go home, Davis." I said, using my most menacing tone so he'd know I didn't want him around. I didn't even turn to look at him.

"Okay, man. Call me if you need anything.

_Need _anything?

I needed a time machine.

That or severe head trauma with a dramatic memory loss.


	46. Chapter 46

Faith heaved one of my suitcases on the bed, while I lifted the other.

"You'd better get changed." She suggested.

I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt right there next to the bed, my mind so numb that I forgot that there were two FBI agents who could see right into the bedroom. Agent Durand had discreetly turned away, but I looked up in time to see Agent Garrity, who had a lewd smirk on his face, get shoved roughly by Maurice before Durand stepped in front of him again. He had a hard time holding him, even though he was Ty's size. Maurice was shouting things, but I couldn't tell what – my head was filled with white noise and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like news footage of intentional implosions.

"I can't do this. I can't breathe." I closed my eyes to stop the walls from closing in.

"Do it quick," Faith advised. "Think of it like ripping off a Band-Aid."

"He's not a Band-Aid!" I snapped.

"This is about _him_? Why you stayed here?"

"What does that mean? I stayed because this is where you put me."

"He never told you." Faith stated quietly.

"Never told me _what_?"

"That we couldn't hold you against your will."

"Against my will." I let that sink in. "When were you told this?"

"Saturday."

"Saturday." I repeated, feeling like my world had just dropped out from under me. But, no, _that _had actually happened Friday night.

"But this is Wednesday." I felt faint, detached from the situation. Then the enormity of it sank in.

"Oh, God, this is _Wednesday_!"

* * *

Durand had talked me down, talked me out of killing the guy, but I stayed in the living room keeping an eye on him. I could see into the bedroom where Kate and Faith were talking.

Kate said something sharp to Faith, who squinted at her incomprehensibly, then got this look on her face like everything in the world made sense. They had several more exchanges before Kate paled yet again and looked very unsteady. She wrapped one arm around her stomach and a hand across her mouth as if she might be sick, and looked at Faith with wide eyes. What was going on?

Then she took a deep breath and calmed and steadied herself. Then another breath. And then the look on her face was the most combustible combination of pain and anger I had ever seen. She wanted to take someone apart.

Unfortunately that someone was me.

She glanced out and saw me watching her and rushed right at me giving me one of the most violent two-handed stiff-armed shoves I'd ever received.

"_SATURDAY?!" _she actually _roared_.

I opened my mouth to explain and she slammed her open palm against my chest hard enough to take my words away. I knew there would be no explaining.

But Faith tried.

"His intentions were good," she began.

"Oh, I think I'm _clear_ on what his intentions were!" Kate threw back over her shoulder.

"No," I began, but didn't know where to go from there.

Faith tried reaching for Kate's arm. Kate shook her off. Faith's eyes met mine, I gave her a look and she backed away.

She tried again."We decided it would be in your best interest-"

"_You _decided _my_ best interest?" Kate hadn't taken her eyes off me. I'd seen a lot of her emotions and expressions, but nothing like this. This had it all: hurt, fury, frustration and, worst of all, contempt.

She slammed me in the chest again, harder. "You _screwed_ with my _life_!"

Only she didn't say 'screwed'.

"I can't go back and fix this! You took away my options!"

I wanted to explain, but I wasn't sure how. I wanted five minutes with her, but I knew she wouldn't allow it. I started to say something, _any_thing, but she stopped me again.

"I don't want to hear _any _words from you! You give me a lecture on 'lies of omission' and then this whole righteous indignation thing five minutes ago, and you've been lying to me since _Saturday_? You will stand here and listen to every damn word I have to say!"

"Okay."

That took the edge off her rage. She stepped back, took a couple of breaths and, finally, said calmly, "You know what? I have nothing to say to you." She turned, went back to the bedroom, and started throwing things into her suitcase. She went to the bathroom to get her make-up bag. I looked at Faith, who gave me a commiserating look. She didn't say 'I told you so', but I knew she was thinking it.

Agent Durand was properly stoic. Agent Garrity bit back a smile, but I really couldn't blame him for that. He'd have to provoke me some other way. I really wished he would.

Faith gave me a look that told me she was sorry, and she moved into the bedroom to aid Kate.

I went back to the kitchen and the bourbon.

The silence was worse than if she'd been screaming about how she'd trusted me, believed me, how I'd lied, let her down, sold her out, whatever. I wanted her to scream her feelings at me because that meant she had them. Silence could mean she felt nothing.

* * *

I gathered my things from the bathroom, looking back into that mirror.

I no longer saw the face of a stranger. This was the face I'd looked at in the mirror Friday morning as I'd prepared for work.

I used the time spent putting everything into my toiletry bag to stuff every feeling and emotion I had down deep, so far from the surface it wouldn't show. Not to him, not to them. I knew I would have to deal with them eventually, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be here. But I held on to the anger. Oh, yes, I was going to need that.

I emerged from the bathroom stone-faced, and threw the bag in the suitcase I'd opened.

"That's all that's mine. Let's go." I said, zipping it up, dropping it to the floor and pulling up the handle. Faith did the same with the other one, and we rolled them out to the living room. I couldn't believe this was it.

I forced myself not to think about it. That was for another time.

Maurice came to the kitchen doorway, a glass in his hand. I glanced over at him, suddenly willing him to act, knowing he wouldn't.

Agent Durand came over to help me with the second suitcase, and Faith went over to Maurice and said something quietly. He didn't respond, just kept his eyes on me.

Agent Garrity opened the door to the apartment and waited for us. Durand took my elbow and half-pulled me toward the door.

"Just like that, huh?" was all he said, this man who had made me feel more alive than I ever had. And here I was, dead again.

Right back where I'd been Friday night.

Cold, detached, icy.

"It's what I do."


	47. Chapter 47

_Kate walked out the door past Garrity, and that son of a bitch winked at me. Faith saw and stepped in front of me so I couldn't move, and he closed the door. I backed away from her and fired the glass right at the fireplace with all my strength. It shattered satisfyingly._

_"I'm sorry." Faith said. I said nothing._

_"You knew this was going to happen, that she'd leave."_

_"Shut up, Faith."_

_"It wouldn't have worked out."_

_"Shut up, Faith!"_

_"I should have told you myself."_

_"Get out." I said. Words she would say to me not long after that._

_She slammed the door behind her._

_"That went well." I said to the ceiling._

* * *

**Boston.**

**Irony at its best.**

**The first thing I did was check out the roof.**

**The second thing was to subscribe to as many New York City newspapers I could.**

**Just to keep track of things.**

**The third thing I did was throw myself into my work so I wouldn't have to think.**

* * *

_I'm not kidding, for three months I am pretty sure the only words I said to her were "Shut up, Faith." There was no idle conversation, nothing about the kids. Nothing about where to eat, what to eat, what kind of day it had been. Silent and sullen._

* * *

**Editing, day in and day out, same damn hours every day, damn weekends off. If that wasn't bad enough, they named me Jennifer Lopez. At home I started building my freelance career again under another name, behind their backs, so I'd have something if I decided to bail. Worked all day, came home and worked half the night. If I was working, I wasn't feeling and I wasn't thinking and that was fine with me.**

* * *

_She would occasionally bring it up._

_Question: "Where do you think she is?"_

_Answer: "Shut up, Faith."_

_Days later:_

_Question: "Do you think we did the right thing?"_

_Answer: "Shut up, Faith."_

_And once, on a humid, rainy August night, under the bridge:_

_Question: "Did you love her?"_

_Answer :"Shut up, Faith."_

* * *

**I'd open a bottle of wine to sip while I worked and realized that over three or four hours of writing I'd finished the whole thing. One night I opened a second, so I just stopped buying it.**

* * *

_I think – no, I'm pretty sure – that Cruz was my revenge. On both of them. And on myself._

_As long as I was keeping busy I wasn't thinking of Kate._

* * *

**Five months and still no tears.**

**I wasn't angry anymore; the anger burned itself off pretty quickly.**

**As usual, working, radio tuned to WMJX Boston, 'Bedtime Magic', after eleven.**

**The DJ's soothing, sultry voice sounded like radio porn.**

**The thought made me laugh and wish I had someone to share it with.**

* * *

_The pillowcase on the pillow she'd used smelled like her hair. I'd kept it that way until it didn't anymore._

* * *

**One night in Boston I stopped in at a Legal Seafood for takeout on my way home and while I waited at the bar I met a guy that reminded me of him, so I took him home just to see if I could do it. Turns out I couldn't so I sent him away unhappy, but well-fed.**

* * *

_It was eight months before I finally painted the living room, and when I did it was a pale green._

* * *

**"The station to turn to at the end of a long day. Magic 106.7"**

**Whatever. Blah, blah, blah. I hated that guy.**

**The piano intro to the next song had me in tears before I even heard a word. It was three days before I was composed enough to go back to work.**

* * *

_We'd never actually hung the cityscapes in the bedroom. It was stupid to hang things on the wall that would remind me every time I saw ithem, but I did it anyway._

* * *

**Whatever he'd done had worked. I no longer isolated myself, but made acquaintences, lunch dates, shopping plans...Nine months had passed. You can grow an entirely new human being in that amount of time. I wondered what that would feel like.**

* * *

_One of the hardest things to deal with was knowing that she knew where I was and didn't care. I'd do anything to find her, but I'd have to play 'Where's Waldo' with the entire globe._

* * *

**Comparisons can't be helped. No matter where I went or who I met…**

**There was no one that even came close.**

* * *

_Kate left me._

_Then Faith left me._

_Or had I just driven them both away?_

* * *

**At some point over that year, he stopped being 'Maurice' and became just 'him'. Ever-present but nameless.**

* * *

_I wondered how things would have turned out if, instead of turning on each other, we'd stood together, against them._

* * *

**Did I love him? Sure, but not in that forever, 'til death, 'Time In a Bottle' kind of way, but as much as you can learn to love someone in four days and still feel it a year later. It hurt, and I punished myself for allowing it to happen by driving myself to work harder, work longer hours on the freelance stuff. I was getting ready to walk out the door again.**


	48. Chapter 48

A year passes quickly when you're a social butterfly. All right, I'm exaggerating, but I found out that if you leave your options open you wind up being faced with a lot of them. I hadn't formed any deep and serious friendships, and there were definitely no dates, but I would call my social calendar _healthy_. I made my way to quite a few Red Sox games.

I found myself better equipped to deal with people and relationships, and everything else life decided to throw at me. My hair had grown in its natural brow,and I just let it grow, and the gnawing emptiness that I'd had for the first six months or so had gone from a daily occurrence to an occasional one.

As much as Maurice had prepared me for this…. this, in turn, prepared me for the next step.

I spent so much time analyzing and over-analyzing my emotions. Did I find myself thinking about him all the time because what I felt was real, or was it just because the end was so abrupt – there had been no 'closure' ? At the time, I thought the issue was pretty damn well closed.

Either way, it was a Sunday night and it was a year to the day after I'd been hauled in to the 55th precinct and been forced to go home with Maurice.

Everything was cloudy in my memory. Was I remembering things as they were, or as I decided they had been? _That_ night everything had been _real_. It was the next day that I'd had to start living a lie.

Over the last year, I'd gone over it in my head a thousand times.

Did I think he'd had malicious intent? No.

Was he dishonest? Yes.

Would I have walked out the door on Saturday if I'd known I could? _Yes_.

If I knew then what I know now, would I? Can't say. Some days yes, some days no.

I'd bought a bottle of Stoli to commemorate, and fully intended to drink myself to sleep as I had that night. I'd thought I was pretty focused on my goal, but after four shots, my mind started wandering and I began to wonder what he was doing tonight. Working? If not, was he with someone? Did he even remember? Care?

I hadn't felt this alone since that first night after I'd walked out. They'd taken me to the airport right away and I'd spent the first night right in my new apartment in Boston. With Agent Garrity. His hands had gotten away from his brain just a little bit and I'd had to blacken his eye. I hadn't meant to, exactly, but the insult compounded with the trauma of the day had overwhelmed me. He'd acted like an abused puppy the rest of the night, and the look on Durand's face when he returned in the morning with Dunkin' Donuts coffee and bagels had been priceless.

Anyway, a year down the road and the FBI and US Marshalls were stingy with the updates. They gave me nothing concrete and nothing satisfying, and the whole ordeal was starting to wear thin.

Evan's father had been indicted for something that had nothing to do with my evidence or my testimony. It felt like it had all been for nothing. My frustration level was sky-high. They kept telling me that once things went to trial I'd be able to get on with my life, but it never seemed to be about to actually happen. I began to plan to get on with my life without them. I knew it could be done. I'd done it. Evan Benedict II's empire had been dismantled, so I had little fear for my life. Some, but not much.

I was ready to jump.

Decided to, planned for it.

Until the day that newspaper came.

I'd been following things.

Sully's step-son and wife murdered. Faith shot. I'd wanted to respond in some way, but anything I could think of could be traced back to me. Even if I used cash to send flowers, the order would be shown to have come from Boston. My concern for that was about to go out the window.

When I'd subscribed the papers claimed they'd be delivered in the morning, but they never were. My job was predictable and dull and there was hardly ever a late night, so I sat at the table with my dinner and read through them after work.

It had been a ho-hum day, so I came home and tossed the papers and mail on the table without a glance. I'd stopped and gotten takeout. North End Italian.

Carrying my plate over to the table, I was about to set it down when the black-bordered headline of the _Post _leaped out at me. I brushed the mail off the top.

NYPD Officer Shot! Fighting for Life.

That was heart-stopping enough, but the photo just about killed me. My plate shattered on the floor and I left it there as I frantically read the papers then checked the internet. No updates. I called the precinct asking for Faith, but of course she wasn't there and they couldn't tell me anything. I called Mercy hospital, but they wouldn't tell me anything. I assumed Faith was there, but they wouldn't page her for me.

I didn't sleep at all that night. And very little each night after. I was a zombie at work.

It was five long days before I could get in touch with Faith at the precinct. I didn't dare call her home. The operator, the receptionist, the phone cop, whatever, asked me to hold a moment for Faith, by the time she got on the phone I was nearly hysterical. I just kept saying "Tell me he's going to be OK."

"Who is this?" she'd asked.

"You _know _who this is. Tell me he's going to be OK!" I demanded.

She informed me that things didn't look good and I must have said something about I have to see him because she reminded me that I shouldn't even be calling her and I needed to stay where I was, and her voice was so matter-of-fact and so reasonable at that point I realized that this had to be the absolute _worst _for her.

I asked how she was doing, if there was anything I could do. It sounds like a hollow offer, but I really would have done anything she'd asked.

But there was nothing to be done.

So, I sat in Boston, feeling helpless. And she sat in New York, feeling helpless.

I called her once a week for updates. It was as often as I dared. Always at the precinct, usually on a Wednesday.

Sometimes we'd talk about things other than how he was doing. I told her how the FBI investigation had very little to do with me and I felt a little like a garnish. At one point I even told her I was thinking of just getting out and going it alone, and she told me not to. Just stay put.

I wish I'd listened.

She never told me anything about his life over the past year and I never asked. We talked about a lot of things, none of them very personal until one week she asked me why I was so concerned when I'd clearly felt so betrayed. I'd completely forgotten she had been there.

I'd thought it through and I realized why he did what he did, and I really couldn't hold it against him.

"He's easy to forgive." I finally said.

"You think so?"

"When the only other option is walking away and living without him, yeah." I said. "Yeah." How had she gotten me to admit to that?

She was silent for a moment. It felt like there was a subtle shift in her thinking.

"Was it that hard?"

"No. I was angry. It was really easy. It was hard a month later. It's really hard now." I admitted.

"He's going to be all right."

"I'm praying for that."

"No. We talked to the doctors yesterday. _He's going to be all right_."

I continued to call until Faith told me he was going to be released from the hospital within the week. I couldn't imagine the anguish she'd gone through for all those months. I wished I could have been there, at least for her. Who knew if he'd have even wanted me around. He was about to get on with his life, and I needed to do the same with mine. It wasn't easy to decide to close the door on this chapter, but it had to be done.

The next morning, instead of papers from work, I loaded my briefcase with as much cash as I had on hand, which was considerable. I ended up having to stuff a bunch in the handbag I'd started to carry months ago, for this express purpose. I checked to make sure my sunglasses were in there and added a hat, for the surveillance cameras at the airport.

I went to work the way I did everyday; walked a couple of blocks to the T, rode a few more, and emerged nearly directly in front of my building. I walked in the front door to satisfy anyone watching, turned my reversible jacket from white to blue, put the hat and sunglasses on, and walked out the back.

I had no idea where I was going to go, but I could decide at the airport.

* * *

I was frustrated, annoyed and generally pissed off, pacing the hospital room, waiting to be released. It felt like I'd been here forever and I just wanted out. Especially now that I knew Kate had been in contact with Faith.

It had been a couple of weeks earlier. I'd woken up, and I always knew when Faith was there before I even opened my eyes, even if she hadn't made a sound.

I'd looked at her. She'd been fussing with her purse, looking for something and she hadn't seen I was awake. The sky outside was grey, heavy. Then I'd noticed, sitting on that table, with the tissues and the plastic pitcher with the water was an impossibly tiny bottle of Tabasco.

"Where is she?" I'd said, startled Faith.

"I don't know. She asked me to get that for you."

I'd frowned at it. "I don't know what that means."

"It means she's been calling me every week since it happened checking up on you."

"Every week."

"Every week." she nodded.

"How did she know?"

"Newspapers." That could mean she was nearby, or it could mean she was anywhere in the world with internet access to New York newspaper websites.

"From _where_?"

"I don't know."

"Can you find out?"

"I'll do my best." She'd promised.

And now, as I stood looking around at the room I hoped never to see again, she pressed a piece of paper in my hand. It was a phone number.

"What's this?"

"The number she called from. Every time."

"How did you get this?"

"Called in a few favors."

I didn't know what to say.

"We can get an address from that." She added.

"508. Where's that?"

"Boston."

"Of course it is."

I was going to Boston.


	49. Chapter 49

It was a week before Faith and Mom felt I could go farther than the kitchen on my own. The wait just about did me in.

Faith had gotten me an address, an apartment number and a name. Jennifer Lopez. She must have loved that. I wondered what bored paper-pusher had given himself a self-gratifying ego boost at her expense, sticking her with that name.

After a week, they were still hemming and hawing about 'letting' me go, and recommending I try calling her instead. I asked them if they could imagine Harry giving Sally a call on her cell phone instead of going to the New Year's Eve party. Or Captain Von Trapp handing Maria a note instead of following her to the gazebo. No, if Kate was going to tell me to go to hell, it was going to be to my face. Or what was left of it.

The first time they left me alone, I left them a note and took off.

I didn't like Boston. It didn't have enough attitude. And the streets! I would have gone insane attempting to drive in this town. No rhyme or reason. No gridlock. None of the comforts of home.

I didn't like where the cabbie left me. I didn't like the idea of Kate in a neighborhood like this. I guess when the US government subsidizes your life, this is what you get. Thank God she was on the third floor.

There was no answer at her apartment, which made sense in the middle of a work day. But I was still agitated. I slid down the wall and sat, knees up, wondering why I hadn't thought this through better. Now what?

My question was answered within minutes. A stoop shouldered old man came out of an apartment at the end of the hall and shuffled toward me. "Can I help you, young man?" From the looks of the building, this would have to be Security.

I stood, slowly and not without a groan and gritted teeth. I showed him my ID and badge and said Jennifer was my sister and I hadn't heard from her and was getting worried.

He introduced himself as the super, Tom, shook my hand and told me he hadn't seen or heard from her in a couple of weeks. With a sinking feeling, I asked if he could let me into her apartment to look around. Maybe she'd left a clue to her whereabouts.

He did, I thanked him and shut and locked the door behind me.

If my apartment was sparse, this was positively ascetic. The only thing on the walls were a clock and mirror that looked like they had been left by the previous tenant because they were not Kate's style, and the Shakespeare quote from her New York apartment.

There was a table in the corner of the tiny living room that obviously served as a desk. A laptop was on it, and there were newspaper articles scattered all over, and one pinned to the wall with my picture. Mom and Faith had never shown me these. I squinted at the article. It followed the timeline of the attacks, both at the funeral and the hospital with tact and compassion, then went on to exploit and sensationalize Mikey's history and the fact that I'd arrested him. Leave it to the New York press to kick a cop when he's down. Mom and Faith had probably burned all the papers.

Tiny little efficiency kitchen. Couple of dishes in the sink; not like her.

In the bedroom, bed unmade; not like her. One of her suitcases was open on the bed and there was, amazingly, bundles of cash in it.

Ah, she was gone. She'd been gone before I even left the hospital. But the fact that I couldn't do anything about it didn't make me feel any better.

I'd just stuck my head in the bathroom to look around when I heard the apartment door open. I assumed it was the super. I came out of the bedroom and there was Agent Garrity.

"Well, we were wondering when we'd see _you_." He said, like I was bacteria.

"The fact that you were expecting me tells me you have no faith in your ability as an FBI agent."

"US Marshalls. Hiding her is _their _job."

"All I see is you. Where is she?"

"We were hoping _you_ could tell us."

"Sorry," I said, unapologetically. Like I'd tell him if I knew. "Again, _aces_," I gave him two thumbs –up, "on the FBI work." He ignored the comment.

"She was a spitfire, that one."

"Meaning?"

"She gave me a black eye."

"That tells me you deserved _two_." No way did I want to know what he'd done to earn that. I'd have to hurt him, and I was almost too fatigued to move at this point. I glanced at the clock. After six. The thought of a taxi to the airport, a flight home…it was too much. I had to ask this jackass for a favor.

"OK if I hang here tonight? I'll be out of here first thing in the morning." I promised, gesturing at the couch.

"What, do you think we _missed _something?"

"No. Just exhausted."

He stuck his finger in my face and I wanted to snap it off. "Don't take anything."

I nodded toward the desk. "I want to read the articles. I missed a few." Understatement.

He nodded. "Yeah, I lost fifty bucks on you. Thought you were as good as dead."

"I've been hoping the same about you. Can I stay or not?"  
He shrugged. "Like I said, don't take anything. And if you find anything that could tell us where she is, let us know." He flicked a business card at me and I let it fall to the floor.

"Mm. You're the _first_ person I'll call."

He gave me a warning look and left. I bolted the door behind him. I guess if Kate could stay here for a year with no gun, I could handle one night.

Her phone still worked so I called Mom and Faith and let them know I was fine, and that it had been for nothing. Faith promised to pick me up at the airport in the morning.

As tired as I was I went through every scrap of paper on that desk. A few phone numbers that looked like they were from work, a couple of takeout menus, but not much else. It was close to eight and I was about to collapse.

I looked at the couch.

Couch, hell.

I slept in her bed.


	50. Chapter 50

At Logan, I devised a very technical and scientific method for deciding where to travel.

I closed my eyes and stabbed at a map of New England.

North Conway, NH.

"Live Free or Die," I shrugged, and headed for the ticket counter.

* * *

The flight was full people just like me: dressed for work, carrying only a briefcase. No one would even notice me.

Except for the woman who did.

She was in the aisle seat, and leaned across the guy between us to talk at me.

Bright and chirpy, she was in her mid-fifties with hair that was so red it looked as though it had been scribbled in with a crayon. She talked so long and so fast that all I got out of it was that she wanted me to join her coven or something. It wasn't easy to tune her out, but I tried.

At least I could look out the window. And think. Eventually her babbling

I had approached a ticket counter no less than three times with the intention of purchasing a ticket for a flight to LaGuardia, but I finally let logic have its way. Once they realized I was gone, that would be the first place they looked.

It would be worth getting scooped up by them again to be able to see Maurice just one more time.

But that would be unfair to him. Here he was trying to get his life back together after, by Faith's accounts, actually being _dead_.

He didn't need, and I'm sure didn't want, me showing up telling him – _what_, exactly: _Hello_?

I'm _sorry_?

I'm glad you're alive?

It wasn't worth it?

It _was_ worth it?

I miss you?

You made me want to be a normal person again?

Have a nice life?

I think about you every single day and sometimes it doesn't even hurt?

I need closure?

My particular brand of chaos was the last thing he needed now.

I'd done enough.

I needed to start over with a brand new everything.

* * *

It was too early, and the city sounded wrong.

Wrong city.

Another grey day. I stared at the ceiling.

She didn't want to be found. I'd spent at least six months trying to figure out how to look for her before…this.

I'd asked for her help, but Faith had wanted nothing to do with it, so I didn't really understand her change of heart. But I was grateful for it.

What had I been thinking?

She didn't want me to find her.

Didn't want me.

She'd cared enough to risk her safety in order to call Faith, and check in weekly, but then that was Kate. I'd bet everything I had that over the past year she'd attached herself to a whole bunch more homeless orphans.

I winced. That's what I'd called _her_ on that first night.

I lay there for a long time and thought over things. Everything. Start to finish.

What she'd done hadn't warranted the things I'd said. I was angry at the situation, not at her. And the situation was my own fault.

I _had _meant it when I'd said I wouldn't have touched her. Faith had been right. I'd been denying everything I knew and then acting in spite of it. Those mistakes had hurt her _because _of my deception.

I didn't blame her for hating me, especially after I'd made such a big deal about her telling me the truth. At first I'd withheld information for her protection, but after that, honestly, I just liked having her around.

Faith had been right about that, too. I'd wanted to keep her. She was there against her will, and she'd made decisions based what she thought the truth was, what I'd led her to believe the truth was. The more I thought about it, the more horrible a human being I seemed to myself to be.

She was gone. And this was as close as I was going to get to her.

I thought about that for a long time, too, before deciding I needed to get to the airport.

Don't take anything?

Bite me.

I took her Shakespeare cross-stitch off the wall for the second time. Just in case.

One last look around, a deep breath... and I walked out, slamming the door on life with Kate.


	51. Chapter 51

Serendipity: accidentally finding something fortunate, especially while looking for something else.

I'd walked into the airport store to find a map of the state and maybe a toothbrush, and I walked out with a new friend, a new job and a rather large and bloody slash across my forehead.

* * *

Ok, so the friend part and the job part came a little later.

I had flipped through the map book and discovered a large mall nearby. Great, I could get some clothes, get a hotel room and plan my next step. I'd slammed the map book shut and turned to go pay for it when someone slammed into me so hard I went off balance and pitched to the side, catching my forehead on the edge of some shelving. I didn't see stars, but got that weird tunnel vision that descends into total blackness. I wobbled and the person grabbed me by the upper arms and held me upright.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," he said, and my vision cleared. I could feel the blood. He pressed the heel of his hand against my forehead, but it still seeped out. He was wearing an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt over a tee-shirt, so he stripped the top shirt off, folded it and pressed it up against my head. What the hell was it with guys wrecking my face? "You're bleeding." He said.

"Einstein." I replied.

"Hm. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot." He paused for effect. "Come here often?" He made the line so obviously a caricature of itself that I couldn't help but laugh. I took the shirt from him and held it up myself.

He extended a hand,"David Duchovny."

"You are not! You look nothing like him." I laughed, shaking his hand.

"But it sounds so much more exciting than David Brooks."

"It does," I agreed, and he looked at me expectantly. "Oh, Kate Rogers." Oops. Damn.

"Well, Kate Rogers, can David Brooks get you to a hospital? From the looks of it, you're going to need a few stitches."

"Don't you have a flight to catch?"

"No, I was just dropping my brother off. He and his girlfriend are spending a week in New York."

I'd kill for a week in New York.

"Seriously. Stitches. Now."

I was starting to feel a little light-headed, so I let him take my arm and lead me out of the airport to his Jeep.

While we chatted on the way to the hospital, I worried about the paperwork I'd have to fill out. I did have the fake Jenny Slater ID. The Missing poster I had shredded had helped obscure the fact that I'd taken it back the first time Maurice and Faith were out of the interrogation room at the same time.

But I'd already told the guy my name was Kate Rogers. Maybe he wouldn't stick around.

* * *

No such luck.

We checked in at the ER, and I dutifully filled out the forms and handed them back to the woman behind the glass.

"Insurance?" She asked, glancing at all the things I'd left blank.

"I'll pay cash," I said and she looked at me like I had two heads. So did David Brooks.

"You didn't put down an address." Her pleasant look was starting to turn a little hostile. I'm sure she dealt with uncooperative patients all the time. I hesitated.

David studied me for a second then fished in his back pocket and handed the woman a business card.

"She lives there."

"At a B & B?" she was skeptical.

"No, in the carriage house behind it. She works for me."

"I replace all the little soaps." I confided. "Mints on the pillows? That's me." She gave me a dismissive look and filled the information in. David guided me to a chair. The shirt was starting to soak through. My hand felt wet.

"Thanks for that." I said.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Cash transactions, fake ID, no address…" I guess I was the only person alive who thought it looked real.

"What are you, a cop?"

"Just a humble Bed and Breakfast owner who helps out the occasional damsel in distress."

"You _caused_ the distress." I pointed out.

"I'm really sorry about that. Mind if I ask where you were heading before I got you off track?"

"Just came in. Thought I'd give North Conway a try."

He wrinkled his nose. "No way. Bretton Woods is where it's at." He handed me a business card. Lilac Inn, it read, B & B, with the names Joe Brooks and David Brooks.

"Brother? Father?"

"Twin brother."

"Good lord, there are _two _of you?"

He laughed. "We're fraternal. We look nothing alike."

"Does _he _look like David Duchovny?" I asked hopefully.

"Sorry. Now, what kind of trouble are you in, exactly?"

Fortunately, at that point they called for Jenny Slater.

"Do you need me to go with you?" David offered.

" 'Tis but a scratch'."

" 'Your arm's off'." He replied. "I'll be here when you get back, with 'questions three'. Go get your flesh wound tended to."

I sighed. "You are a worthy adversary."

"Slater!" snapped the woman behind the glass.

* * *

Seven stitches later…

I came back out to the ER reception area and tried to pay The Woman Behind The Glass.

"_No_body pays!" She insisted. "First we bill the insurance company, then we bill _you_."

"Hospitals don't accept cash?" I demanded.

David came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder to calm me down.

"Send the bill to me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I can pay for this right now." I threw the briefcase on the counter and popped it open. He closed it quickly, looking around discreetly, hoping no one had seen.

"Send the bill to me." He repeated.

"Yes, sir." The Woman responded.

David took me by the elbow. "Let's go," he said quietly, guiding me toward the door.

* * *

"The least I can do is give you a ride where you need to go," he argued in the parking lot.

"You've done more than enough."

"Are you always this stubborn?"

"More."

"Look, I feel responsible-"

"You're not responsible. Thank you very much for the ride to the hospital, _and_ the laceration, but I wouldn't feel comfortable-"

"Come work for me." He said quickly.

"_What_?"

"I just lost my receptionist, Reservation Specialist and all-around Girl Friday. You'd make a fantastic addition to the polished and elegant features of the lobby."

"Yes, the giant bruise that's going to be on my forehead screams 'Five-Star B & B'!"

"My girlfriend can cut your bangs to cover it. You'd be doing me a huge favor."

"For how long?"

"Just until we can hire a decent replacement."

I pretended to think about it. "All right. But I need to hit the mall – I literally don't have a thing to wear."

* * *

By the time we'd finished shopping, David and I were elbowing and needling each other like brother and sister.

He helped me load my bags into the back of the Jeep.

"It's a two hour drive." He informed me. "I expect your story."

Great.


	52. Chapter 52

That first Tuesday night in Bretton Woods, David had settled me into the carriage house behind the B & B. It was a large structure that had been renovated, with two suites, one on each floor, and a two bed-room apartment at the back, presumably for people like me. He and Joe shared a house next door, and he'd insisted I join him for dinner. His girlfriend, Samantha, was visiting from Connecticut for the week, and she'd not only cut my bangs as promised, she'd gave me a sorely-needed trim, scrunching my long hair into waves. I'd liked the look and copied it most days.

"You look like a new woman." David had said. I was starting to feel like one.

Sam and I made a casual dinner compatibly, because David was apparently beyond unfortunate in the kitchen. Afterward, we all watched a movie together.

It became a routine. David and Sam were so comfortable with each other and their relationship that it didn't even bother them that time spent with me could have been time spent alone. They always invited me over and always made me feel welcome. It felt like family.

* * *

Things at work went well the first week. I enjoyed the diversion. Not only were the people interesting, I found the work refreshing, in spite of the twelve-hour days that occasionally turned into fourteen-hour days. I was able to reorganize some things, and make others more efficient. David had thought I'd have trouble with what he called Joe's 'quirky' filing system, but it made perfect sense to me.

"These files look exactly like mine would if I gave them the time they deserved."

"That's a little sad, but I'm glad someone could figure them out."

"It's not that difficult. This is an over-simplification, but he's separated income and expenses, then categorized each one, then alphabetized the categories themselves. It makes perfect sense. Maybe a little over-organized, but..." I shrugged and blew at my new bangs.

Sam had to drive back to Connecticut on Sunday, and David made it clear that my duties as receptionist, Reservation Specialist and all around Girl Friday now extended to meal construction, which was fine with me. It all kept me so busy that my writing was going dormant, so on Tuesday night when David went back to Manchester to pick up Joe, I dedicated the evening to getting things back in shape.

Unfortunately, that consisted of working until working until three and getting only two hours sleep, which is why I was a little late Wednesday morning. That bothered me, because I was an "Early is On Time and On Time is Late" type of person. I settled myself in behind the reception desk, and I could hear raised voices coming from behind the door to the office.

"…not to mention that she's _late_."

See?

"It's 6:02. 'Lighten up, Francis'!"

"No, David. No and no and no. I don't need one of your bimbos messing with our business. I can't believe you made this kind of decision without consulting me. You didn't even let me know Sandra quit!"

"She's not mine and she's not a bimbo. She's smart, she's funny, she's responsible –"

"And she's _late_."

"She figured out your filing system first day."

"She did?"

"Yes. And she's _fun_, Joe. You could use a little fun in your life, especially at work. You take everything too seriously. Your girlfriend is a _tax attorney_, for God's sake."

Okay, this was getting personal, so I crossed the room to check on the continental breakfast set-up. Not part of my job, but I still liked to make sure everything was in good shape. I poured myself some coffee. Very necessary.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd needed coffee this badly.

Until I could. With a remarkable vividness.

Lillian from the kitchen came out at that moment to deliver a platter of freshly-baked muffins. I greeted her and she touched a gloved hand to my forehead. "Are you all right dear? You look a little flushed."

I assured her I was fine, and made some small talk about today's breakfast special in the dining room, and the weather. Such a sweet little lady.

She was always talking about her grandchildren. They gave her such joy. I really thought that this job was just a way for her to kill time until she could see them again. I wondered what it would be like to love someone that much.

A loud bang came from the office.

Lillian looked started, then concerned. "Is _he _back?" She quickly shuffled away.

How bad can he be? He's not Grendel.

Well, he already had an attitude about me, so this wasn't going to be pleasant, no matter how it was done. I put my coffee behind the counter, and gathered up all the papers David had asked me to hold for Joe.

"Mind explaining to me why we're paying her in cash?"

Perfect timing. I knocked strongly on the office door.

With an annoyed "_What_?", Joe yanked the door open.

My, oh my. Where have _you _been?

I glanced over at David, alarmed because after a few seconds I still hadn't gotten any words out of my mouth. He realized what I was thinking, and he started to smile – that evil Grinch grin that seemed to go on forever.

No no no no no no. I looked back up at Joe. He was frowning at me like I wasn't what he'd expected. His irises were dark hazel with a ring of brown around them.

"Papers." I finally said, glancing over at David and feeling like I'd walked into a trap. "David asked me to set aside some papers for you." I almost shoved them at him in my eagerness to escape.

"They're categorized, alphabetized…sterilized…" I added lamely.

He'd been looking at what I'd handed him, but looked at me sharply.

I gestured desperately at David. "He said you like things super clean." I wanted to go over and slap the grin off his face.

"What's this?" Joe asked, he walked behind a desk I assumed was his and dropped everything but one sheaf of papers on it. He sat and looked up at me with impatience.

"Oh, that's a report I was working on, David and I talked about it, it's just a breakdown of other B & B's in the area, and how they compare on various levels."

He paged through it quickly.

"The last page. Where did you get this?"

"Those are actual numbers from the Stark House."

"They're our biggest competitor."

"I used to do a little investigative reporting." David and I shared a smile.

"Tom _gave _this to you?"

I shook my head. "Junior. You'd be amazed what a wink and a smile can get you."

Joe looked suitably impressed. My work here was done.

"What would a wink and a smile get _me_?" David asked with an innocent expression.

I winked, smiled, and closed the door behind me. Then exhaled ferociously.

* * *

About a half an hour later, David came out and whispered in my ear, "He says you can stay as long as you like."

"Really?"

"Sure. What man can resist a woman who goes speechless at the sight of him? That was sheer genius."

"Oh, no. I hope he doesn't think that I-"

"Don't worry." He squeezed my arm. "He's oblivious." As he walked over to check on things in the dining room he called back over his shoulder, "But I'll work on that for you."

"Don't! I'm good!"

I'm good.

* * *

At about 6:30, I let myself in through David's kitchen door, which he never locked, set the paper grocery bag on the counter and started unloading the ingredients I'd purchased. I was exhausted, so I'd copped out and bought one of the pre-roasted chickens and bottled salad dressing for chicken Caesar salad.

It hadn't occurred to me that it wouldn't just be David and I tonight, until Joe startled me by throwing his keys on the table and saying, with the tiniest shred of humor, "Don't tell me you _live_ with us, too." I'd had the radio on and hadn't heard him come in.

"You _scared _me," I admonished, my heart pounding.

"I wasn't expecting you to be in my kitchen."He eyed the items I had spread across the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinner." Duh.

"How did he rope you into that?"

"He didn't rope me into anything. I volunteered. He is absolutely abysmal in the kitchen."

I got a half a smile. "He snowed Samantha and he got you, too. He can cook. He just doesn't want to."

"But he told me-"

"That _I_ can't cook," he finished for me. He gestured at the counter. "Bottled Caesar dressing tells me _you_ can't, either."

"I have no less than three recipes for Caesar dressing in my head. I'm just tired tonight." I snapped, reluctantly adding "Sir." I'd forgotten who I was dealing with here.

"So do I. And out here I'm just Joe."

"Anchovies?" I asked.

"Every time."

"Do you coddle the egg?"

He thought. "Sometimes."

"Mustard?"

"Sometimes powdered, sometimes not, sometimes not at all."

"Garlic: chopped or crushed?"

"Chopped."

I nodded approval. "Okay. In the Realm of the Caesar, you pass inspection."

Joe gave me a tight-lipped nod, picked the bottled dressing up with two fingers and dropped it into the trash. We then haggled over ingredients until we had a list we mutually agreed upon.

I'd noticed something unusual about his eyes. They were different from most people's: they were guileless and unguarded. This was a guy with no secrets. At least none he wasn't willing to tell.

"Chicken or romaine?" he asked.

"I'll do the romaine." I said, taking it from him; I rinsed, dried and started cutting. "Nice knives." I observed.

David hit the kitchen like a hurricane, slamming the door, throwing his keys as his brother had and greeting us with a loud, "Hi, Honey, I'm home!"

"I'm not your 'Honey'." Joe and I both said. And that got me one whole _real_ smile. Well worth the wait.

"Sorry I'm so late," David said to me with a self-satisfied smile and a flutter of a wink so Joe wouldn't notice. "Things seem to be going smoothly."

I turned on him, pointing with the knife, words dripping with double meaning. "You can stop right now. I'm onto you, I know what you're doing. Your brother," I paused, making sure he understood and adding, so Joe wouldn't, "told me you know how to cook."

"You're right. Every now and then I like to throw a _couple_ of ingredients together to see how they'll _react_."

"You'd better be careful. One day you might choose a particularly volatile 'ingredient'. Your experiment could backfire. Very _painfully_."

Joe was still slicing up the chicken. "He _is _oblivious, isn't he?" I mouthed at David silently.

"Told you."


	53. Chapter 53

Everyone thought that being near death was what changed me so much. It played a big part; but it was that _and_ Kate: all the lessons both had taught me about life, about myself, and the fact that you just never know what the future holds, so you have to live in the now…hold on to the _now_ as long as you can. Losing Kate made me want to take chances, to try to make up for my mistake.

That's why when I met Deb I knew that I had to live life like I lived my job: don't hesitate, follow your instinct and jump right in. Decisively.

And I did.

* * *

We did dinner together more often than not. Sometimes at their place, sometimes at mine. It depended on whether or not we were going to watch a movie, since my living room had only bookshelves, a love-seat, one cozy reading chair and fireplace. On the nights we had no movie, we were at my place, and we would just sit and talk, sometimes very late. David would always run and leap into the reading chair, forcing me to share the love seat with Joe. After a while I didn't mind so much.

We talked about a lot of things, and I eventually told them pretty much everything about Chicago and New York, but one thing I left out of every conversation was Maurice.

He was something I kept just for me.

Six months passed quickly. Over time Joe and I developed a close friendship and it frustrated David to no end that I wouldn't let it go any further.

I took every opportunity to aggravate him by pointing out the crush I had on Joe: I was constantly talking about how attractive he was, what a great guy he was, how any girl would be so lucky to have him. It drove David crazy, but he kept my confidence.

At one point the tax attorney girlfriend had stopped showing up on the weekends and Joe hadn't seemed too interested in replacing her.

David had replaced Sam with no less than three different women, and seemed to be about to move on to his fourth. Every single one was from out of town.

One night I was working and an article on the internet informed me that Evan's father had been found guilty of whatever he'd been accused of and sentenced to serve however many years in jail, but that could be curtailed severely by his grave illness.

Evan was dead.

His father was in jail – _without_ my help.

It looked as though I was free.

I thought of all the places I wanted to go and realized maybe I was already there.

* * *

It was just about two years and five months since Kate had walked out of my apartment. When I'd met Deb, I'd pretty much stop thinking of life in terms of a post-Kate timeline, but I think it was the wedding that had her on my mind again.

It was three weeks away and Deb was going crazy. I did as much as I could to help, but there were things she wouldn't allow me to help with, probably wisely so.

I wanted to surprise her with a weekend away up north somewhere, maybe even Maine, but everything I looked at was pretty much booked up. Foliage and all that. One night she was having a particularly rough time, so I apologized to her, told her how much I'd wanted to get her away from the stress, but couldn't find the kind of place I wanted.

She'd cried and then told her friends at work about it the next day. Apparently just trying had been a good thing.

She called me later that day, just as I was about to leave for work. One of her co-workers had a reservation for a place in New Hampshire she had been about to cancel. The guy made other plans or something. A miracle vacancy.

I took a personal day on a Friday, and she worked a half-day so we could drive. We took her car. She thought mine was 'too aggressive' for New Hampshire. I told her that her restrictive attitude was exactly the kind of thing that drove people to the 'Life Free or Die' state.

She had a way of kissing me that made me forget we were disagreeing.

Every now and then I manufactured a disagreement for that very reason.

We stopped for dinner at a Mexican place in Concord because that's what she liked, and she'd gotten a recommendation from someone she knew.

When we got to the inn just after eight, a polite little old man named Paul checked us in.

This was going to be perfect.

This was going to be just what she needed.

* * *

I had walked into the office while both David and Joe were there and announced that I needed a couple of days off. They hedged and hesitated and consulted their calendars, then finally agreed I could have from 6pm Friday to 6 am Sunday.

I thought that was pretty reasonable.

I knew at this time of year overnight accommodations were nearly impossible to find, so I planned day trips, and David offered to let me use his Jeep. But only if, on one of my trips I took Joe with me.

"I'll just borrow _Joe's_ car." I didn't like conditions.

"Are you kidding? You make adjustments to the seat or steering wheel, he'll spend months trying to get them back to the precision settings they're at now. And God help you if you mess up the programmed radio stations."

"Predictability can be a fine thing. Remember where I came from."

"He won't let you touch it."

"I'll rent."

"With cash?"

"I'll _buy_." I stressed. I was still using cash. Habit, partly. But, I wasn't certain whether I'd be in trouble with the US Marshalls or FBI for walking out, but I sure didn't want to put myself on the map and then find out that I _was_.

"Look," I said, "I just want a little time alone. I need to work through a few things. Need to write. Just need a break. I've never worked for anyone else, certainly not for this amount of time, non-stop."

"You don't just work for us. You're like a sister. Family. I want to help you. Protect you. Make sure you're happy. Joe can make you happy."

"I'm already happy." I gave him a 'cheese' smile.

He shook his head."There's something there that's keeping you from it." He paused. "You know, sometimes there's no 'fix', no 'closure', no satisfying answer. Sometimes you just need to let it go and move on."

"Maybe I just need to figure out what it is I need to let go of."

"You already know."

"Maybe I don't want to let go."

"Hm. Because letting go would mean moving on? Done this before, have you?"

"Yes. And the last time took all the life out of me."

"How do you do that? Let someone or something suck the life out of you? How do you let life stop being an adventure?"

" I like where I am. It's safe."

"Joe would never hurt you. I'm pretty sure he's incapable."

"That's what I thought about – " I cut myself off. "Last time I went 'all in' I lost. Big time."

David started to talk and I stopped him.

"Look. He's wicked smart, kind, generous, thoughtful, humble, gentle, serious, responsible, honest, perfect, dependable, he always seems to do the right thing and he's hot as _hell_." I jabbed him in the shoulder with my finger to punctuate each of the following words. "But. I'm Not. _Ready_."

David accepted that, but added, "I hope he's still there when you are."

I thought about that for a minute and conceded, "Me too."


	54. Chapter 54

The days that are life-changing are always the ones that start out the most innocuous.

Just like any other day.

Cup of coffee, sunshine, birds chirping.

Everything as it ought to be.

* * *

Deb told me she'd check out, so I took the suitcase out to the car and when I came back she was at the desk talking to a woman, who appeared to be busy shuffling papers.

I was going to go up to her, but for some reason I hung back. Instinct, I guess.

The woman was looking down at her paperwork, long brown wavy hair obscuring her face, then looked up, tossed her hair back and flashed Deb a smile.

_That _smile.

I was frozen by the unexpected.

All that time looking for her and this is how I find her: too late.

Way too late.

What the hell was she doing _here_?

I felt exposed standing by the door waiting for Deb. Kate would eventually look my way. It was inevitable. I didn't want her to see me; didn't want to have that moment hit me like ice water. But there was nothing I could do.

Kate and Deb were, surreally, chatting amiably, as Kate processed the check-out. I scanned the room hoping for something or someone that might distract Kate's attention when Deb left her. There was nothing.

When it happened, it was a bad as I had thought it would be. It was one of those slow-motion moments:

Deb turned from the counter, folding the paperwork in her hands, and walked toward me. Kate, still smiling from their encounter, let her eyes follow her for a second, then she caught me in her line of vision and gave me her focus.

I glanced quickly at Deb, then back at Kate. The color drained from Kate's face and she took a step back, as if she expected me to charge, vault over the reception desk and demand answers. I couldn't blame her. The man she'd known would have done just that. Part of me still wanted to. But, right now, I had Deb to worry about. Her eyes went to Deb and back to me and her expression became indecipherable.

"Later." I said, under my breath, so Deb wouldn't hear, and Kate looked relieved.

I held the door for Deb, who saw me looking back at Kate and said "She looks a lot like your cousin."

What?

"Your cousin – that picture on your refrigerator."

I hoped to God Kate hadn't heard that.

And I wondered, when I came back, if I would find her gone again.

* * *

I thought that had to be the worst moment of my life. And it was.

At the time.

I'd admired her ring and asked if they'd set a date.

She'd said she was going to be married in three weeks.

I'd commented on the fact that she was vacationing three weeks before her wedding.

She'd told me she'd been going nuts with the plans and he took her away to relax. How very thoughtful.

I think the words I'd said were "Oh, you've got to hang on to a guy like that. He's a keeper."

Tears blurred my vision, and I turned and walked right into Joe.

He frowned down at me. "Are you OK?"

"No."

He scanned the lobby. "Was there a problem?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"No."

Joe made a frustrated face and pulled me back into his office and closed the door. He bent down a little so he could look into my downcast eyes.

"Do you need to go home?"

"No."

"What _do_ you need?"

"I don't know." And I didn't. And that made me cry.

Joe sighed and pulled me into a hug, and at first I resisted, but gave in because he was bigger than me and because he insisted. Not because I needed one. Because I didn't. Really.

Maurice, too, had seemed to know what I needed before I needed it.

And that thought just made things worse. Leaving him on _my _terms, in anger, had been one thing. This was something else entirely. It suddenly seemed unbearably pathetic that he'd moved on and I hadn't.

"Whatever it is, let me _help_ you."

He already had. This was the first real human contact I'd had since Maurice. Wait, no – I fell asleep on David once on a movie night. Either way, in spite of the circumstances, it felt good.

_Help_ me?

Help me move on.


	55. Chapter 55

Poor Joe. I'd ruined his shirt and left him baffled as to what the problem even was.

After work, I wasn't interested in food or company, so I skipped dinner, telling them I had a vicious headache and needed to be alone for a while. Joe wanted to push the issue, but he looked like he was afraid that I'd cry again, so he let it go. David just looked confused about where his food was going to come from.

I had no appetite at all, so I avoided them all week, pretty much living on coffee and an occasional orange. David and Joe were both great about not pressing me to talk. I know they were being sensitive and solicitous, but I truly think it was the idea of more tears that scared them off.

I would just go back to my apartment and sit and think. I tried writing to take my mind off it, but I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't sleep. All I could do was think.

I thought how stupid I was for not having let myself get beyond this long ago. Nearly two and a half years and there had still been a small part of me thinking "Maybe…someday". I wanted to kick myself. Then I reminded myself that Penelope had held out for _twenty years_…faithfully. But she'd had a son to raise and all those suitors to spurn.

I didn't even have a cat.

He'd said "Later," which told me he thought there was some unfinished business he wanted to clear up. Should I be expecting a visit? A phone call? A Vermont Teddy Bear? An e-mail would be great, but it was not his style. I resigned myself to the fact that this was going to be face to face. It could be tomorrow, it could be next month, but I knew, whenever it was, I wouldn't be ready for it.

* * *

I told Deb I had to take Mom upstate to visit a sick friend. Someone she'd grown up with who now lived on a farm with her veterinarian husband.

Details make lies believable.

I didn't like deceiving her, but she knew everything about me except this. I hadn't thought she needed to know about Kate. I guess I didn't want her to know. I never thought it would be an issue.

It was four o'clock the following Saturday. When I walked into the Inn the lobby was vacant. I stood there for a second, hands in my pockets, wondering why I was doing this. I strolled around the room, looking at the plants and trees Kate had probably been watering for the last six months. The art on the wall she'd been looking at. I wandered into the darkened dining room, just off to the left of her reception desk.

What was she doing as a receptionist anyway? She didn't need to be doing this. What would the advantage be?

I'd circumnavigated the entire dining room, peered out the French doors at the patio and garden out back...I guess that could be considered a perk. The setting was fantastic. Had been fantastic. I wandered back over near the doorway and saw Kate was back at the desk, occupied with paperwork.

I couldn't do this here. What had I been thinking?

I was trying to figure out how to get out without her seeing me when a guy in blue jeans, and oddly, a shirt and tie raced across the room and vaulted up onto the counter. She didn't even look up.

"Katie, Katie,Katie." I stepped back into the shadows.

"Davy, Davy, Davy." She replied, deadpan, monotone, attention still on her papers. I couldn't really see her face. Her hair was so long.

"When are we going to hook up, baby?"

Oh, guy. You are in so much trouble.

She shrugged. "I'm not doing anything tonight."

Wait, what?

"Champagne?" he purred.

"Damn well better bring flowers." She warned, and her eyes never left her work. She turned and filed something off to her left, and when she turned back, her eyes went wide and she looked at him.

"I almost forgot. Jess called, her flight arrives in Manchester Monday at ten. She'll be up here by two at the latest."

"Cool," he said, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

She looked like hell. She had dark circles under her eyes and had lost enough weight for me to notice, even after only seeing her for thirty seconds last week.

"Would you just marry the girl and make her miserable on a full-time basis?" Kate teased.

"I will if you start making my brother _happy_."

"Not in my job description."

"I'm not talking about your job. I'm talking streetlamps and midnights, romance and roses, the full moon, lips swollen from kisses…"

Kate was all business. "I can't." she said shortly, shrugging and turning to file some other papers.

"What is stopping you? What is hanging over your head?"

"He's my boss. It would be inappropriate." Kate stated so flatly and matter-of-factly that I could tell that wasn't even a reason at all. Just a convenient excuse.

"He'd do anything for you if you let him. I see you two together every day. You're perfect for each other." Perfect is a pretty strong word. It made me wonder if he was right.

Kate didn't even address that, she just attacked, good-naturedly: "Ooh. Relationship advice from a guy who won't date anyone who lives less than three hours away."

"Okay. Fine. You have absolutely no interest in my brother." He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He hopped down and slapped the countertop. "It's been six months. _Why are you still here?_"

She just glared at him, saying nothing, eyes nearly chasing him out of the room.

I could barely hear her, but I'm almost certain she said : "Because there are other places I _can't_ be."

Oh, don't say that. Tell me you didn't just say that.

And here I was, no different from Evan: stalking her because I needed 'closure'.

I had to see her later. When she was alone. Coming here had been stupid.

I went out the French doors at the back of the dining room, and found a coffeehouse, to wait.


	56. Chapter 56

I got back to the B & B just before eight, and Kate had gone, and the old guy, Paul, was at the desk. Answers to a couple of pointed questions told me he wasn't the owner, but the overnight guy. I talked him up a little bit, told him how much Deb and I had enjoyed last weekend. I intimated that Kate had been particularly helpful on Sunday, and I was just passing through and wanted to thank her again. I held up a blank, sealed card and told him I wanted to deliver a thank you note written by Deb. I felt really bad deceiving the guy.

Miraculously, he said "Well, she just lives out back in the carriage house. I can't imagine she'd mind some company."

It was that easy. "Thanks." I said. It was starting to get dark.

I stepped out the door of the inn into a downpour. Dammit. I walked around the building to the back, to the carriage house I'd seen from the dining room earlier. By the time I got to the door I didn't feel like a reasonable and temperate human being, but I tried to be one anyway, knocking instead of pounding like a cop.

Five seconds.

It was five seconds before she opened the door without even saying "Who is it?".

"So, now you just open the door without asking who it is?" I demanded.

She just looked at me for a minute watching me get more and more wet. She could have slammed the door in my face, and, for a second, looked like she wanted to.

"We're not in the city." She pulled me inside by the sleeve of my pullover, closed the door and left without a word.

She came back with a towel and peeled off the wet pullover. She handed me the towel and I draped it over my head , scrubbed and dropped the towel. Bet my hair looked great. She smoothed it down, the way Faith would have.

"Can I put this in the dryer?" she asked, hefting the dripping Yankees pullover. I saw the disdain.

This was absurd. She was acting as if two and a half years hadn't passed and nothing had ever happened. And so was I.

"Knock yourself out," I said, looking around. She disappeared again.

I was in a small, but very cozy living room. The perfect place to ride out a downpour. She had bookshelves and a little fireplace. Very homey. To my left was the entry to a kitchen, again, small, but big enough to hold a tiny breakfast table for two. I wondered who, if anyone, had had breakfast at that table.

Kate came back.

"We need to talk." I said, master of the obvious. Then I thought that maybe it was just me who wanted to talk. Maybe she didn't want to talk at all. Maybe I was the only one who needed this.

She caught me in a fierce hug and I put my arms around her and her hair smelled exactly the same, like flowers, and I got a little lost for a minute and then it only just occurred to me that she might misinterpret the reason I was here.

When she straightened and faced me, looking right in my eyes, we were inches apart and I was totally unprepared for that moment. Unprepared for what I felt. I'd thought it was long over.

"We need to talk," I forced myself to repeat, even as I ran my thumb across her full bottom lip.

She turned her face away from me, taking away the temptation.

Ah ,Kate, you just saved me a world of trouble. I'd come dangerously close to destroying everything I had with Deb. One kiss. I probably would have, certainly could have, and she hadn't let me.

But, then, she'd never been the one with a problem with restraint.

She turned back, buried her face in my neck and I just held her for a long time.

And that's where we were when they came in, carrying grocery bags, one of them crowing, "Hey,Katie! It's been a week and we're tired of this 'I need to be alone' stuff!" Kate jumped back, away from me.

Tall, bright guy observed drily that she was not alone. The other one was the one who had been talking to her this afternoon.

"Don't you lock your _door_?" I asked angrily.

"No one does." Kate said.

They stood, looking from Kate to me and back again, waiting for her to give them an explanation.

The one with the big mouth, 'Davy', just looked at me with blatant curiosity.

The other one, the tall one, had unconsciously tightened his right hand - just the slightest bit – when he saw me. Ah. He was the guy.

"David, Joe, this is Maurice Boscorelli, NYPD." Kate said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I stepped forward to shake their hands. "I'm her cousin." I said by way of explanation. Joe looked skeptical. Guys know these things. What could I do?

"You said you had no family." David looked at her.

"We, uh –" she looked at me, then back at them, "found each other just before I left New York." She explained, crossing her arms, then looking everywhere but at the three of us.

That was a nice way of putting it. This was beyond awkward.

A light finally dawned on David.

"Well, Maurice, we were just about to make dinner for Kate, since she's done it so often for us. You are welcome to join us. Why don't the two of you get caught up while we get dinner going?"

Joe frowned at him. He didn't like that, and I didn't blame him. But I did give him my best smug 'I Win' smile. I don't even know why I did it. It just felt good.

Kate gave me a weak smile. This wasn't going to be easy.


	57. Chapter 57

Kate gestured at the love seat and I sat at the far end so I could keep my eye on the kitchen and the front door; occupational habit.

We were ending where we'd started: at opposite ends of a sofa.

"You're too thin. You look awful."

"You look _stupid_." She shot back "And you're still charming as hell."

What was I thinking? I'd set her off. I _was _stupid.

"Getting married, huh? How'd you manage that?" She sat back, arms crossed.

For second time in a week her expression was unreadable. Was I slipping, or had she found a way to guard herself?

"I've evolved."

"Apparently." She sounded skeptical.

"I have."

"Lied to _her_ about anything?"

Oh. She was going _mean. _

My silence told her everything.

"She doesn't know you're here."

What could I say?

"I'm a secret." She said. "That's okay, you're one, too."

I glanced at the kitchen. David was arguing with Joe just a little too loudly about the dinner preparation.

"You're lucky I hadn't told them about you, because you'd just look like a _liar_. _Cousin_."

Changing the subject might snap her out of this, because there was certainly no way I was going to be able to make her laugh.

"Why did you leave Boston?"

Kate actually started to answer, then stopped and sat very still.

"How did you know I was in Boston?" she asked quietly, her voice brittle.

"Faith tracked you down for me. Your phone number. I missed you by two weeks. Two _weeks_, Kate!" I added angrily.

David stuck his head out of the kitchen. "You kids okay?"

Kate nodded then looked back at me with an anguished look that made me ache. For what might have been. For having hurt her. For letting her go.

Joe came out and handed us each a glass of white wine. He studied Kate to make sure she was okay. I studied him to make sure _he _was okay.

"What is it?" Kate asked him.

"Chardonnay. Your favorite."

She smiled at him, "Thank you." I set mine down on the coffee table. I had to drive back to New York.

"You used to like vodka." Had I really just done that? Tried to get into an 'I know her better' competition with a guy who'd been around her every day for the last six months?

"It was all you had." Her smile vanished. Joe excused himself and went back to the kitchen.

"Look," I said, "I just came here to tell you I'm sorry."

"You're sorry."

"The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you."

She looked like she believed me. "I know." She set her glass down and drew her knees up to her chin, like she used to. "I'm sorry, too." She added sadly.

"If I could go back and change-"

"Let's not play that game." She said. And we sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So," I gestured at the kitchen. "You going to give that guy a chance?"

"Maybe." She said. "Probably. Not yet."

Then she laughed, but it wasn't one of her big wonderful laughs, it was tight and tiny.

"Look at you. Married. And here I am doing the same damn thing I was doing when I met you. Absolutely nothing."

I'd had so many things I'd wanted to say to her and I just couldn't form the sentences.

I was rescued by David flamboyantly announcing dinner.

I didn't know what to expect with two guys making dinner, but I was pleasantly surprised by a very light but flavorful chicken and broccoli alfredo with penne.

We ate in the living room, David bringing out one of the chairs from the kitchen table. Kate only picked at her food.

It was bizarre having to make polite conversation with these guys, but they talked about football. At one point David brought up a book that all three of them had obviously read. When I mentioned that I was waiting for the movie, Kate turned the conversation to her beloved Red Sox.

Guys who cook and read. This must be heaven for her.

Joe watched her the entire time, frowning as she merely pushed the food around her plate with her fork.

When we'd all had enough, Kate told David and Joe that she and I would do the dishes because they had cooked.

"You can't ask a guest to do dishes," Joe pointed out.

And that began the battle of wills which, to my surprise, Kate let them win. It was as if all the fight had gone out of her.

The guys made an incredible racket in the kitchen, to give us privacy.

"I should probably be getting back." I said, awkwardly.

She nodded absently, staring at the coffee table top.

"Yeah, okay – I'll get your – your _Yankees_ thing." She uncurled herself and left, coming back with my dry pullover. She tossed it to me. I realized I'd been hoping she'd put it back on me, as she had taken it off, and I'd have an excuse to be close to her again.

* * *

I threw his pullover at him.

I'd been about to help him on with it, but I didn't trust myself to get that close. When I'd hugged him earlier he'd been right at the edge of the cliff and would have only needed a little push, and I didn't want him to be there again. And I didn't want to be the one to give him a shove. Didn't want to have to live with myself after becoming that person. I thought back to that story, "The Lady or the Tiger," and what I'd been trying to write about. Things had definitely changed. I certainly didn't want the lady to have him. But I had to be satisfied with him being happy.

We stood, feet apart, and I could tell he didn't want to go back there, either.

"I'll give David and Joe your thanks." I said, opening the door for him. The rain had stopped.

He stepped out and looked up at the star-filled sky.

He took a couple of steps, then turned back, grabbed me by the arm and leaned in close.

"I wanted it to be you." He said, then kissed my cheek and left.


	58. Chapter 58

The following two weeks were hell. He was all I could think about.

Joe tried to help me pick up the pieces even though he didn't quite know what the pieces were.

Miserably,I counted down the days until the morning I awoke and had to tell myself "He gets married today."

And, just like that, he'd be out of reach forever.

I had a hard time getting out of bed.

Work was a blur of activity, and I couldn't remember one distinct detail of the day.

After work I got into my pj's, the ones with the froggies, and realized if it weren't for the drawstring, the bottoms would have dropped right off me.

The Boscorelli Diet Plan. Extraordinarily effective.

I curled up on the love seat and stared into the empty fireplace.

A little while later Joe came by and said he'd noticed I'd had a particularly rough day and was there anything he could do.

So, we sat together on the love seat and I let him hold me and I told him all about Maurice. And he just listened. Didn't offer advice, didn't try to fix things, as men like to do.

Just listened.

It was exactly what I needed.

He had to go home for a few ingredients, but when he came back he made me an extremely potent warm and sweet drink with brandy, rum and cream. It hit hard and it hit fast.

After making me brush my teeth and wipe off my make-up, he tucked me in, kissed my forehead and told me that any man who would willingly walk away from me hadn't deserve to be there in the first place.

He said goodnight and left.

I slept soundly for the first time in three weeks.

* * *

The next morning when I walked into work he was waiting for me.

All I wanted.

All I needed.

I'd loved him the entire time.

And it was easy.

So very easy, when you don't fight it.

It was just good old-fashioned surrender.

* * *

Boo and I were running errands.

We'd started calling her that as a joke because she looked just like the little girl from _Monsters, Inc._, and it had stuck as a nickname. She had my brown eyes, and I put her hair into high little ponytails. She had the personality, too. She was hard to keep up with.

Her little dress shoes made scuffing sounds on the sidewalk. She was dragging her feet in a passive-aggressive way because she'd been trying to pull her hand away from mine and walk independently and I wouldn't let her.

We stopped in at the dry cleaner, same as every Wednesday.

Al handed me the plastic-covered clothing and as I hooked the hangers with two fingers, the baby delivered a kick that nearly dropped me.

Boo's eyes got big and she put her little hand on my belly. "Mommy OK?"

"Mommy's OK," I winced in assurance, once I'd gotten my breath back.

Al smiled. "Any day now?"

"Three or four more weeks. See you next Wednesday."

He told me to have a great day, calling me by my married name.

Three years and I still liked the way that sounded. And it still made me smile.

Back out on the street I was immune to all the sounds of the city, but Boo wasn't yet.

I looked up at the perfect blue sky.

The sudden scream of a nearby siren made Boo snatch her hand from mine and cover her ears. A police car sped by and, without removing her hands from her ears, she pointed one tiny index finger after it.

"Daddy."

"Yeah." I said. "Daddy."

I _loved _the way _that _sounded.

"Come on, Amanda Rose." I grabbed her tiny hand, " Let's go see what Uncle Sul's up to today."

THE END


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